The Thirteenth Warden
by Woolverine
Summary: It's three years after the end of the Blight. Alistair is a wandering drunk. Warden Cousland wants to make amends. Can they ever be friends again?
1. Atonement

**Atonement**

Amelie was pleased. Her armour and that of her fellow Wardens shone like the moon, the black griffins on their breastplates looked ready to break free and strike down foes. This day was very important to her, and even if her comrades didn't know or understand all the reasons why, they had outdone themselves in preparation. She had a maelstrom of feelings inside; apprehension, excitement, hope. It was the last feeling Amelie was desperate to ignore and she tried to think of other things.

"Are we ready, my friends?" she asked, with barely a quiver in her voice.

"Are you?", Warden Commander Deren replied. "Are you sure you want to do this? It is very close to politics and I know you don't like to be involved in such."

"It is not politics," Amelie shot back. "It is definitely a Grey Warden matter as far as I'm concerned and she should have known better than to try and twist it to her own advantage."

Sensing the imminent rant, Deren raised his massive gloved hands in surrender. "Fine, yes, I agree, Amelie, but the queen is going to be seriously pissed off at you."

"That's why we're all going, Deren" a deep voice rumbled from behind a lowered helm. "Amelie makes her speech, Deke makes sure everyone gets to hear every word, and then we get to bash our way through Anora's honour guard. I'm looking forward to it myself, it's going to be fun. I really dislike some of those arseholes."

Amelie winked at her supporter, Merik. Of her fellow Wardens, Merik was the one to whom Amelie had grown closest and thus he knew the most and understood best Amelie's motives. Today wasn't about fun or pissing off Anora, much as Amelie enjoyed pissing off the queen. It was about trying to atone for her blackest deed, the one which gave her nightmares worse than any archdemon could manage. Merik was the only Warden who knew for certain what the others guessed as Amelie's true motivation - the thirteenth Warden, whose name was never mentioned.

It had been a month since the invitation, or rather summons, had arrived. The massive monument to Loghain was finished. Warden Amelie was to give the main dedication speech at the grand ceremony Anora was planning in celebration of her father. There had even been instructions on what Amelie should wear, who she should bring, how the Grey Wardens should salute the statue to show Loghain proper was a wonder that, despite the many miles between Amaranthine and Denerim, the queen had not heard how eloquently Amelie had expressed her rage.

Now Anora ruled in her own right, not from Cailan's shadow, more of her less desirable character traits had been revealed to the populace. The queen was no longer universally loved. Insisting that this enormous statue be built when many were still homeless from the Blight had contributed to her growing unpopularity. Denerim's Alienage was a collection of scanty shacks. Elves might be generally held in contempt but even vocal bigots disliked seeing elven children die from cold and hunger in Ferelden's main city while money and materials poured out to pamper Anora's pride.

Amelie had begun writing her speech while still incandescent with anger. Successive revisions had toned the language but not the intent or meaning. Deren had commented wryly that it was damn lucky Wardens were so popular in Ferelden right now, because it might make it harder for Anora to kick them out of the country. Luck has nothing to do with it, had been Amelie's furious response, along with a neatly aimed tankard.

Anora had been keen to know with what words Amelie planned to honour Loghain. First, a suggestion that being unused to public speaking Amelie might want advice from someone more experienced. Amelie had sent a courteous note, politely reminding Anora that as Teryn Cousland's daughter, she had been extensively educated in oratory among many other things. It was, maybe, an exaggeration but Anora would know no different. There had followed other demands, decreasing in subtlety as the queen became ever more desperately curious. Amelie had brushed them all away with neat courtesy. Then had come a thought, just a thought really, that perhaps it would be best if Ferelden's Warden Commander spoke instead. The queen did not wish Deren to feel slighted in favour of a junior, even 'a' hero of Ferelden. The Wardens had begun to anticipate the arrival of Anora's missives, wondering what ploy she would try next and if she would dare a direct order and how soon. There were bets placed. Unfortunately, it had already been announced that Warden Amelie would be making the dedication speech, and word had spread surprisingly fast. Many had set forth for Denerim simply to see and hear Amelie at the ceremony. Amelie could not be replaced.

The previous morning Amelie had woken, certain of a new arrival in the city. It was the closest he had been to her since the immediate aftermath of the Archdemon's defeat. Amelie knew, as sure as if he were in the room with her, that Alistair had come to Denerim as well. She had risen from her bed, to stand over her sleeping child and sob silent tears of bitter shame. She had made the merest hint to Zevran about Alistair's presence, and she had not seen the Crow since. Amelie hoped he was merely looking for Alistair to talk to him, and not kill him.

"One last thing, and then we'll leave," Amelie announced. These were the words she always said before going out to battle.

Her maid, Lydia, had been waiting to hear them. She released the squirming child she had been holding, and the sturdy little boy made his unsteady way forward. Walking was still new to him and his brown eyes were narrowed in concentration. Amelie scooped him up into her arms, covering his face with tiny kisses.

"Dearest Duncan, darling Duncan, Ma has to go away for a little while," she told him, gazing at his face.

"Warden work," Duncan said. He understood the significance of the armour and weapons, though he had never seen them as shiny. It meant Ma would be away and some of his uncles too, but Lydia would look after him and Scrof would keep him safe. Sometimes Shale would look after him too, and let him ride on her shoulders.

Amelie pressed her cheek against her son's reddish blond hair and swallowed back tears. "I love you, darling," she whispered. "Try to be good."

"Love you, Ma, he replied, landing a wet kiss on his mother's ear.

Amelie set Duncan down next to her warhound. "Scrof, guard Duncan." The Maberi responded by licking Duncan's face from ear to ear, making the child giggle. "Lydia, be ready, just in case." The maid nodded, but bit back some words.

Amelie donned her helm and fell in beside Deren to march out of the Wardens' compound. Anora had invited the Grey Wardens to join her procession to the ceremony but Deren had firmly refused. Now they marched in funereal formation, slowly and silently. Others joined them, friends and strangers alike. Oghren and Shale had been waiting just outside the gate and Amelie thought that Zevran would be close too. Leliana would already be at the ceremony ground, and Wynne would be with the rest of the royal court. There had been no word from Morrigan for some months though, and Amelie had been wishing for some of the witch's acerbic advice.

The closer they got to the ceremony ground, the stronger grew the connection between Amelie and Alistair.

"Please, Maker," she prayed. "Don't let him do anything stupid. I'm about to be stupid enough for both of us."

The crowd in front of the platform parted wordlessly for the Grey Wardens. Most of their followers merged into the throng but Shale and Oghren joined the eleven Wardens in formation as Amelie climbed the stairs up to where the queen and her closest advisers stood. Behind them and over them loomed the gigantic Loghain. Amelie removed her helm and passed it to a waiting page. She searched the mass of people before her, seeking even the smallest glimpse of her love. There was none.

Deke, the Warden mage, made a few discreet gestures and then nodded. Amelie would have no need to shout. Her words would carry clearly to even the deafest member of the crowd. Her friends stood ready to prevent any physical attempts to interrupt or quieten her.

She was trembling, she was terrified, she was desperate. Was atonement even possible?


	2. An Honest Tribute

**An Honest Tribute**

Anora, queen of Fereldon, has invited me to dedicate this statue to the memory of her father, Teryn Loghain Mac Tir. She wishes me to speak of the teryn's honour, his heroism and his sacrifice.

In truth, I cannot. Loghain Mac Tir fought bravely to free Ferelden from Orlesian rule but he was not a teryn then and I was not even born. I know nothing firsthand of any heroism or sacrifice.

My personal knowledge of Teryn Mac Tir has little in it of honour or of heroism, and his sacrifices were of others. He killed King Cailan as surely as if he had driven a sword through his son-in-law's heart with his own hand. Loghain personally arranged for the Arl of Redcliffe to be poisoned, the same Arl Queen Anora has kept imprisoned for nigh on three years.

He may not have personally ordered the death of Teryn Bryce Cousland and his family, but Loghain certainly condoned it. Indeed, he arranged and condoned many deeds considered abhorrent in Ferelden, including slavery and the imprisonment, torture and murder of those whose only crime was to disagree with his obsession.

Yes, the Teryn Mac Tir I knew was a man obsessed by past enemies and past glories. He was ready for Ferelden to be lost to darkspawn and the Blight rather than accept aid from Orlais. Nothing good could from Orlais, he said. Once over the border they will not leave, he said.

Loghain's overweening pride and arrogance could permit no other to be right, to admit that he might be wrong. The size of this statue is an almost fitting tribute to his arrogance.

What then, of his so-called greatest sacrifice? The night he slew the archdemon and ended the Blight? That was the work of a Grey Warden, not the disgraced teryn.

I had not even been a Grey Warden for a full day when Loghain's orders led to the massacre at Ostagar, where Ferelden's Wardens were almost completely wiped out. If Loghain had had his way, Warden Alistair Theirin and myself would have also stood upon that battlefield, to die fighting, waiting for reinforcements that never arrived. King Cailan had insisted that we two perform another task for Ferelden that day and so we lived, to oppose both Blight and regicide. Did the King know Alistair was his half-brother? I believe so. I believe that King Cailan kept Alistair from the main battle deliberately, that the Theirin bloodline would continue if he did not survive the day.

The Blight brought grief to us all. I am not ashamed to admit I wept for Duncan and my grey brethen, that night and others since. Alistair wept too, and our shared grief united us as much as our Warden oath. When love is great, grief is crushing, as you all know too. Forgiveness can be impossible.

I have heard Alistair condemned then and now for weakness, for selfishness, because he refused to accept Loghain as brother. I tell you now, Denerim, accepting Loghain as a comrade-in-arms sickened me to my soul, and I doubt I will recover from that sickness. I would rather have torn out my own heart than have Loghain as a Grey Warden but ...

Only a Grey Warden can end a Blight, and we were only three in number. This man had destroyed our chances of success with his treachery at Ostagar and when the Wardens from Orlais came to help, he turned them back at the border. While my heart and soul called for Loghain's execution my duty to Ferelden and the world spoke different words.

That night, that terrible night here in Denerim, everyone fought like heroes so the archdemon could be defeated and safety ours. Atop Fort Drakon the blood of humans and elves, soldiers and mages flowed together into rivers across the stone, as we battled and drove and crippled the archdemon. Never have I been more proud of Ferelden, and never have I felt so small than when faced with their courage and their determination.

Then it was nearly done. The archdemon lay there, bleeding from a hundred wounds, gasping for breath.

But it is not enough for an archdemon to simply die. The final, killing stroke must be made by a Grey Warden or the Blight is merely paused, not ended. I stood there, looking at Warden Loghain, looking at the Archdemon. I saw the faces of all those Loghain had sacrificed in his arrogance, and I knew. I ordered Loghain to take that final blow, I ordered him even though I knew it would likely kill him, for he was far more injured than I. Even then Loghain was thinking of his own glory and reputation, thinking I offered him atonement after all his wickedness.

Blood calls for blood. The dead of Ostagar, the Denerim elves sold to Tevinter slavers, the families left to die unprotected as the Blight advanced - these were the hundreds of reasons I had to order Loghain to his death.

To his execution.

A hero? All must decide for themselves what Loghain was, as a rebel, as a teryn, as a Grey Warden, but let this monument stand for all the evil he did as well as the good. Let us look upon it and remember that power can bring madness and tyranny in it's wake.

Revered Mother, would you now lead us in a prayer to remember and bless those who are lost to us? Thank you all for listening.


	3. Full of Questions

**Full of Questions**

"If there's one thing I hate about being a bitch," Morrigan thought, "it's the fleas."

The witch had spent a large part of the last few months in canine form, as a rather unattractive mutt. When she had wanted to learn how to be a wolf, Flemeth had vetoed it.

"There will be occasions, daughter, when being a wolf will attract unwanted attention. If you must have a canine, pick an inconspicuous one," her mother had instructed.

Accordingly, Morrigan had picked a dog of dubious parentage to study. There was wolf in its ancestry, and not too far back either, but there was also enough ordinary mutt to ward off wolf hunters. Learning how to ingratiate herself with perked ears, lolling tongue and wagging tail meant people usually ignored her more wolfish physical traits.

That friendly demeanour had provided food for Morrigan and her companion many times. "Not that he pays any attention to where the food comes from," she thought, glaring across the fire at her supposed master.

"Why have I been doing this? Really, what is the point of my following this self-pitying fool around as he tries to find someone tough enough to kill him?"

Back at the beginning, in Amaranthine, it had seemed quite a sensible course of action. Flemeth had been insistent that the youngest Grey Warden would be pivotal in events over the coming years, essential events, and not just the Blight either. Yet, Amelie seemed a little more ... dead each time Morrigan visited her, and clearly Morrigan could not permit such a pivotal person to fade into death.

Ergo, find the course of the illness, treat it and Amelie would grow better. Perfectly sensible and practical.

Except it wasn't an illness killing her friend, it was despair and loneliness. The shock of realising that not even the child gave Amelie enough reason to live had sent Morrigan into a despair of her own. She called the Warden 'sister', owed her continued existence and indeed her very happiness to the younger woman.

"Though he did contribute much as well," Morrigan conceded. "Despite being an idiot."

Morrigan had spent many hours going over and over options with her lover, her love. Eventually they decided on a possible winning strategy.

Find the idiot, if he wasn't dead already and then keep him alive while finding a way to reconcile them. It wasn't much of a plan, she admitted, but it was at least equal to the plan they had used to end the Blight. "Get an army, find the Archdemon, kill the Archdemon" had been Amelie's and Alistair's plan. "By any means necessary."

Well, they had all done deeds they found personally distasteful, and not just eating Alistair's cooking either.

"Actually, as a dog I find his cooking quite palatable," she admitted. "Perhaps he was raised by dogs. If it explains the cooking and the smell..." She made a doggy wuff of amusement and he looked up.

"That's right, girl, dinner's nearly ready. Hungry, are you?"

Morrigan sniffed the air, separating the odours of rank human and bubbling stew from each other. Dinner smelled particularly tasty this evening. She had learned early in this new relationship with Alistair that while he would not bother with food just for himself, he wouldn't let the dog go hungry. And after she had made it plain that raw meat or stale bread was not to her taste, Alistair had begun to cook most days. Morrigan would go stealing and begging, and whatever she brought back Alistair would turn into Infamous Stew.

She wasn't sure if Alistair knew her real identity or not. When he was completely sober he seemed to know that his companion was not an ordinary dog, but Alistair was rarely completely sober.

"Will kill darkspawn for wine," Morrigan thought sourly. "Bandits for beer." Bale fire flashed in her eyes. It had angered her, discovering how low he had sunk.

Morrigan and Alistair had had a bad start to their original relationship. She had labelled him a sentimental moron, and he called her an evil apostate. But it was hard to carry on seeing only a man's bad points when you fought beside him in battle after battle. Grudgingly, Morrigan had come to respect his dedication and skill and even his intelligence. His determination to save as many lives as he could had eventually changed from being incredibly annoying to something... Morrigan shied away from even thinking the words but her defiant honesty won. Qualities that initially were aggravating in the extreme had started to seem admirable, even the sentimental ones.

Previously, when asked of love, Morrigan had always dismissed the concept. It gets in the way of freedom and pleasure, she would declaim, this being the lesson she had learned from Flemeth. Morrigan had never been loved by another person, or had one fall in love with her and she had never loved anyone herself.

The time with Amelie, Alistair and the others had been full of revelations. Watching the two Wardens fall in love had been a perplexing experience for Morrigan. What was the point in all the to-ing and fro-ing, shy glances and 'accidental' touching? Why didn't they just get in a tent and skip straight to the sex? Though Morrigan would never had admitted it aloud then, eventually their courtship moved her. Amelie and Alistair had both become more confident. Their love had made them stronger, not weaker. Morrigan had begun to wonder if perhaps being in love gave someone the ultimate freedom to be herself. And judging by the noises from their shared tent, love certainly didn't get in the way of pleasure!

When Morrigan had found Alistair, he had been in a bad way. He had been ill from too little food and too much booze, with a score of partially healed wounds, some badly infected. She had despaired to see that Alistair was killing himself as surely was Amelie wishing herself to death.

Every evening when Alistair passed out either from alcohol or exhaustion Morrigan had changed back to her own form. She would remove his armour and tend to his wounds before bundling him up in his blankets. In the morning Alistair would assume that he had done these things himself while drunk. He didn't notice that his hangovers weren't as bad or that his wine tasted differently and lasted longer. As the infections passed he ate more and drank less. He no longer passed out by the campfire most evenings and would lay out his bedroll instead. On cold nights he would lift up his blankets.

"Come on, girl," he would entice. "It's cold out there. Plenty of room for you in here."

And he began to talk. Starved of friendship, Alistair spent hours every day talking to the dog. Morrigan heard stories of his life in Redcliffe and the monastery, heard about the rough games Templar trainees played and about Amelie, of course, and the great betrayal. She realised something so improbable that it had taken days for her to believe it. She and the idiot were much alike. Both had grown up in isolation, hers geographic, his the social isolation of his bastard birth. They hadn't realised how lonely they were, because they had never known anything else. While Morrigan had closed off her heart, Alistair had flung his wide open, desperate for friendship.

Now Morrigan understood his devastation after Ostagar. Alistair had finally had people he could call friends, family even. He had finally had a home. He had finally found someone who could be a father to him. And he had had all these things for only a few months when Loghain had destroyed them. Morrigan had had no patience for Alistair's grief, because she had never had anything to lose. Her only experience with grief had been when Flemeth had destroyed the stolen mirror. Flemeth had never shown her any love or affection and the usual bonds between a mother and child simply did not exist.

Could any apology convey the regret Morrigan now felt for the cruelty with which she had treated Alistair's mourning? Now she loved, now she was in danger of losing someone she loved, her behaviour seemed ever more wicked. Small wonder Alistair had never trusted her. All she could do now was look after him, heal his body and be a loyal, if silent, friend. Oh, but how she wished she could heal his greatest wound!

The questioning of herself never faltered though. It was her nature to examine and re-examine, to seek every possible assessment of a situation.

Now, watching Alistair fall asleep after scoffing down a generous portion of Infamous Stew, Morrigan reached her final answer. She changed from dog to woman, and knelt beside Alistair who was snoring softly.

"Why am I doing this?" she whispered. "For Amelie. For you."

She brushed a fly away from his face. "Why are I doing this? Because you are my brother and I love you. You're still an idiot though."


	4. One Man and his Dog

**One Man and his Dog**

Alistair looked up at the statue of Loghain and spat eloquently in it's direction. Yesterday, travelling towards Denerim, he had been able to see Loghain's head well before the city itself had come into view. He had heard rumours about it, of course, but seeing the size of damned thing had been sickening. Literally. He'd puked on the road until he thought his actual stomach was about to exit through his mouth. The dog had sat down, patiently waiting.

"Want some, girl?" he'd offered, waving at the watery vomit. "Get it while it's hot!"

In response the dingy white mongrel had flattened her ears and bared her teeth. Alistair had laughed, stroked her head. "That's my fussy darling," he'd cooed.

Today's main task had been finding somewhere to sleep in the city tonight. He wanted to be at the ceremony ground early, make sure he had a good spot. It had been problematic. It had to be somewhere cheap, which would let the dog in with him, and in the first place would let him in. More places would accept the dog than would accept Alistair, funnily enough. Many people had come to Denerim and no one was desperate enough for lodgers that they'd take in this filthy hulk with a matted beard and covered shield. Eventually he'd spent a few pence on a bath, given his armour a quick wipe over and hacked the biggest lumps out of his beard. Then the dog had found some odds and ends he could sell and with the extra cash and soapy smell, Alistair had been able to buy some sleeping space on the floor of a nearly clean hovel for him and the dog.

Who was now pressing herself against his legs, urging him away from the viewing point. Alistair kept thinking he should give her a name, not just keep callin her 'girl' and thinking of her as The Dog. Sometimes he felt she already had a name of her own, and no doubt thought he was stupid for not having instantly divined it. Anyway, if she thought it was a good idea to move on, it probably was. Maker, he was usually too drunk to notice anything less obvious than a squad of hurlocks dressed as prostitutes and shouting his name.

He turned away and started searching for the nearest source of cheap booze. The dog was trying to interest him in a hot pie stall but Alistair craved the warmth of wine rather than dubious pie meat. He gave in though, as he normally did, and bought a pie for them to share before getting himself a bottle of rotgut and downing a quarter of it in a single swallow.

"I am drinking less, girl. I mean, this is the first booze of the day and it's nearly noon. And I really really need this. Even if I didn't know she was in Denerim I'd know, you know. It's like she's just gone around the corner, just walked out of sight. I can smell her, for Andraste's sake, I swear to you."

He took a smaller swig of rotgut. "It's killing me."

Alistair leaned against a wall, slid down to the ground. "I hate her, I can't forgive her, I think about killing her and yet … and yet …" A tear escaped, wandered down to nestle in his beard. "She is still the breath in my lungs, the blood in my veins and without her I'm a walking skeleton."

The dog lay down beside him and pushed her head under his hand.

"I'd thought the dreams after my Joining were bad, until the Blight dreams started and I called them the worst, right until the Archdemon started visiting me. How wrong I was. The worst dreams are the happy ones, where everything is just the way you want it, and then you get the nightmare of waking up remembering how you've been betrayed and how your life is a complete midden."

Alistair sat there, feet in the gutter, fingers tight around his bottle of fermented cat's piss.

"When I took her out into the Kocari Wilds to prepare for her Joining, I knew she'd be good. I mean, she'd been recruited by Duncan. Anyway, we found this wounded soldier and she helped me bandage him up. I noticed how small her hands were compared to mine, delicate fingers and neat knuckles. How can hands that small wield a sword, I wondered, how can they have the strength to grip the hilt when she slashes through someone's body?

"I kept being amazed by those hands. They were the shape and size of a noblewoman's hands, made for sewing and eating sweetmeats. Yet they had the same callouses as mine, the kind you only get from hour after hour of sword practice! Whatever I saw her do, her hands remained steady and capable, right up until ..." His voice broke, and Alistair swallowed back something that might have been a sob.

"Until she gave me an amulet she'd found in Redcliffe Castle. She thought it might be one I'd lost, that had been my mother's. Maker, how her hands were trembling! She looked and sounded like she always did but her hands shook like I'd never seen. I assumed it was a reaction to what we'd gone through at Redcliffe, because that was hard on us. I saw her hands trembling again a few nights later. The dreams had been rough and we'd both got up. We were sitting by the fire, not saying very much, and she reached forward to pull a dead leaf out of my hair, and I saw the trembling. I realised then that it was me that did that to her. She could fight darkspawn, the walking dead, face down demons and abominations without flinching but I made her tremble. My heart jumped in my chest. I wanted to kiss her more than anything in the world. I didn't though, too scared. When we did get our first kiss, it was pretty much by accident, you know? We were collecting firewood and she tripped over a fallen branch because she was laughing at something I'd said. Well, I grabbed her arm to pull her up, but pulled too hard and she cannoned right into my chest, and then I fell backwards with her on top of me. I was embarrassed by my clumsiness and she was laughing like a loon and suddenly we were kissing. I had never imagined, never dreamed ... The world shrank, everything else vanished, and only the feeling of our mouths moving together existed. It was a perfect moment, and it kills me to dream about it."

The dog wriggled round, sat up to lick off the tears that Alistair hadn't even noticed. He flung his arm over her back, pulled her close, kissed her muzzle.

"What would I do without you, girl? Where would I be? I'd be rotting unburned in a ditch if you hadn't adopted me. Thank the Maker you did. I wouldn't have this chance without you. I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow but I'm going to do something. I don't understand how she can make a speech about that Maker-damned murderer but someone has to speak up with the truth. It will probably have to be me and you know how I hate speaking in public."

He knocked back another long swallow of forgetful juice. "So you see, I really do need a drink."


	5. Ceremonial Chaos

**Ceremonial Chaos**

Part of the ruined Alienage and adjacent docks had been swept away to create a site for Anora's grand dedication ceremony. A burned out warehouse was replaced with stands of seating for the nobles and wealthier citizens. There was a platform draped with Anora's colours and Ferelden flats. A throne had been placed in the centre of the platform, with chairs arranged on either side. On the right side there was a lectern, with Loghain's standard hanging in front. The steps up were also on the right side. A large area of ground had been paved where everyone else could assemble. Alistair chosen a spot near the front, partway between the lectern and the throne. The dog lay at his feet, eyes closed.

"Sleeping again? You slept all night and now you're at it again. Not fair. You're flaunting aren't you? Or telling me off for not sleeping myself? I didn't dare sleep, and you know why!"

His neighbours in the crowd had been ignoring him pretty consistently. Much as Ferelden was a nation of dog lovers, Alistair's continual conversation with his dog had marked him out as a lunatic. The weapons and armour marked him as a dangerous lunatic. Alistair hd noticed the interest in, and fear of, him. He had been entertaining himself by saying crazier and crazier things to the dog, and grinning madly at people. Well, he'd turned up early to get a good place and it was boring just standing around. For a while, he'd carried on a friendly chat with his sword and that had cleared a small space around Alistair. For some reason, people simply didn't want to stand close to him.

The stands were filled. Anora and a gaggle of over-dressed lackeys had arrived a while ago and were seated on the platform. Everyone was waiting for the Grey Wardens. Anora was starting to look pretty damned peeved, and that was great. Alistair, actually, was feeling marvellous. His stomach was full of food, not wine or beer. The sun was shining. The Grey Wardens were deliberately slighting the bitch-queen with blatant tardiness. He still didn't know what he was going to do and he wasn't much worried about it.

"No plan whatsoever!" he announced. "I shall improvise all the way!". He laughed when his nearest neighbour tried to inch further away.

He knew, just knew with absolute certainty, that he had to be here today and do his best to ruin Anora's ceremony of lies. The Wardens were approaching. He could sense both Amelie and a knot of taint moving closer. Could they sense him? Did they wonder if a darkspawn was lurking in this holiday crowd? For everyone else, it was the silence that alerted them. Quiet rippled out from the formation and people simply moved out of the way. Amelie passed within a few feet of Alistair; he could have stretched his arm and touched her.

They were magnificent, breathtaking - twelve figures wearing impeccable matching armour, all different sizes but in perfect step. They were every story come to life, without the griffons of course. His neighbours were holding their breath and Alistair realised that if he were awed, how much more so must these people be. Shale and Oghren were tagging along behind the formation and as Amelie climbed the steps, they took up position with the Wardens. Alistair assessed their placement with narrowed eyes.

"Girl, they're expecting trouble," he muttered. "That's exactly how I'd set up if I reckoned on having to fight my way out of here."

He appraised the crowd. There were children everywhere, folks crammed together. Not much room to wriggle, never mind make a run for it if trouble broke out. It would just need a few to panic and then it would be an unholy mess. Alistair prayed as he hadn't prayed for a long time. Yes, he wanted to spoil the ceremony but he didn't want to start a riot, get kids trampled or worse. "No bloodbath today, please Maker. No bloodbath today."

Amelie had taken off her helmet and was gazing down at her audience. Alistair knew she was searching for him. He was confident that she wouldn't recognise him, all long hair and beard.

The sight of her face, her dark brown eyes, sent his blood pounding, and he flushed with shame. The insults he had hurled at her the last time they'd been together, what he'd done to her! It was the nightmare he hadn't told the dog about, so shameful was it, so strong his self-loathing. Alistair hated Amelie for what she'd done to him, and he hated himself for what he'd done to her. Andraste's Blood, she was thin! Even at this distance he could see her cheekbones jutting through her skin. Did the woman never eat at all? What were those Wardens thinking of, letting her shrink away like that?

"Girl," he said quietly, "Even if I could forgive her, not that I'm saying that it's possible, I could never forgive myself. I tried to believe it was the taint, something to do with the Archdemon, but it wasn't, it was me, all me. I'm evil, a destroyer."

The dog leaped up, stood her on her hind legs, put her front paws on his hip. Her clear golden eyes stared into his. Alistair was sure she was about to speak but it was Amelie's voice that rang out over the ground.

"Anora, queen of Ferelden..." she began.

Her first words confirmed Alistair's suspicion that Amelie was going along with Anora's fantasy. Bile surged up his throat. Sudden disappointment killed the hope raised by the Wardens' behaviour.

Then, "In truth, I cannot."

There were gasps from all over the ground, and even a few muted cheers. Alistair switched his attention to Anora and saw rage twist the woman's face. She motioned to someone Alistair couldn't see but he saw the result soon enough. A small squad of guardsmen in Anora's colours moved towards the platform steps, readying weapons. They were met by a wall of griffon embossed shields. The Wardens drew no weapons, made no aggressive moves but their intent was clear - You shall not pass. Alistair heard Oghren's throaty chuckle and grinned exultantly.

Amelie carried on speaking, clearly and confidently. Anora was hissing instructions at her lackeys, most of whom were looking quite sick. Alistair shook his head. This had to be a dream. How could it be real? There, proof that it was a dream! There were three Chantry sisters on the platform, and Leliana was one of them. In full regalia as a Revered Mother, no less. Any minute now the cross dressing hurlocks would show up and dance the Remigold. Or he'd awaken and have to determine a sensible plan to spoil Anora's day. Practically anything would be sensible compared to what Amelie was doing.

Alistair was stupefied by Amelie's speech. The first time she spoke his name, her voice faltered, raw with emotion. He listened as she talked about Cailan, Ostagar and then himself. Tears began pouring down Amelie's face as she spoke of love and grief. Alistair's whole body started shaking. Did she still care for him? Did she? Why? Amelie's voice was thumping into his brain like a battering ram. He stared up at Amelie and she saw him, recognised him. Their gazes met, locked. In her eyes Alistair saw despairing love. He swayed. Hands caught him on each side, stopped him falling to his knees.

Anora left her throne and stormed towards to Amelie but something froze her in place before she reached the Warden. Alistair automatically scanned for the mage responsible. The effect only held Anora briefly but it gave Amelie enough time to draw her speech to a close. The queen slapped her across the face. Amelie did not react.

"Warden whore! You'll die for this," Anora snarled in a low voice, unaware that she was affected by whatever magic had amplified Amelie. The queen had meant the threat to be quiet and was shocked to hear her words reverberate around the ceremony ground.

"Better a Warden whore than the lickspittle of a barren bitch-queen," Amelie responded calmly. There was scattered applause.

"Guards! Arrest this woman!"

The guards stared at the Wardens' blocking their path, the golem with the gems sparking fire across it's body, and the grinning dwarf with an axe nearly as tall as he was. Their reluctance was clear.

"Let them through," Amelie called down.

Alistair watched in disbelief as the Wardens simply stood aside and let the guards by. He pushed his way closer to the platform. What were they thinking? They were leaving Amelie to Anora's tender mercies? No! He glanced up and saw Amelie had removed her shield and was unfastening the straps that held her sword scabbard in place across her back. He was nearing the Wardens now, who had slung away their own shields.

"Ali!" It was Amelie, calling him.

He looked up, and their eyes met again. The tears were still drying on her face.

"Here!" She tossed her sword scabbard down to him even as the guards reached her. Alistair caught Starfang and watched in horror as the guard leader backhanded Amelie across the face with his metal shield. She reeled backwards from the blow but stayed on her feet. The guard hit her again and again. The Wardens, Oghren and Shale did nothing.

Warm blackness swept up from his feet and Alistair drew Starfang.

"He's going sodding beserk"! Oghren shouted.

"Deke, settle him!"

Alistair felt the spell aimed at him. He braced and when it hit, it bounced back. He stalked towards the stairs, brushing the first Wardens aside like shadows.

"How did he do that?" An Anderfels accent.

"I don't bloody know, but stop him!"

Mailed hands grabbed at his arms. Alistair shrugged them away easily. He warded off another spell with his Templar training.

"Magic won't work, he's a Templar!" Morrigan shouted. "Merik! Hit him!"

Alistair was on the stairs now. Guards prepared to face him down. He was seized from behind, pulled back down to ground level. Alistair whirled round to attack, Starfang raised. As he swung Amelie's sword, a massive mailed fist cannoned into his jaw. Alistair rocked with the blow, grunted, started his attack over. His opponent swore and aimed a flurry of blows at his head. Alistair lost count, but kept his feet, swaying. Then something was slammed down on his head from behind and he collapsed.


	6. Debriefing

**Debriefing**

Alistair drifted back to consciousness. He kept his eyes closed while he assessed his situation. He could feel bare wood against his skin. There was shouting from nearby.

**"Who thought it was a good idea to turn someone with templar training into a bloody beserker?"  
**  
It felt like there was rope around his wrists and ankles, and his knees and waist too.

**"I don't care if it frightened the bloody knickers off Andraste herself!"**

Was he tied to a table? Was he naked and tied to a table? Alistair opened his eyes and lifted his head up as far as he could. Yep. He was. Completely naked. He groaned.

**"Why didn't any of you mention it?"**

"That very loud man is Ferelden's Warden Commander." Zevran. Right next to his ear. "He did not notice me leave the room." The Antivan's dark face moved into Alistair's eye line.

"And now you kill me, right? Is that it, Zevran?" Alistair asked without rancour.

"Why would you think that, dear Alistair?"

"Because if our positions were reversed, if you'd done what I have," Alistair swallowed on a dry throat, "you'd be dead in heartbeat."

"You are a man capable of many things but not, I judge, murder." Zevran began to untie Alistair, feet first.

"Where are my, um, unmentionables?" Alistair asked, quietly.

"Being burned along with everyone else's, I imagine. You, ah, took them by surprise."

"But not you?"

"Well, as partial as I am to being taken in that fashion, no. I was hoping that you would go berserk." The rope around his eyes fell away.

Alistair tensed as the Antivan set to work on the rope across his waist. He'd never liked the idea of Zevran getting close to his privates, and definitely not this close, and while his hands were tied down too. "So someone else would kill me?" he asked, trying to feign nonchalance. Probably failing.

"No. It would prove that I had made the correct decision during all the other opportunities I have had to slit your throat."

Startled, Alistair closed his eyes and waited for Zevran to finish untying him. He didn't doubt that if the Crow had wanted him dead, there had been many chances. He sat up as soon as his wrists were free and started to rub feeling back into them.

"Where does that leave us then, Zev?" he asked.

"It leaves you sitting naked on a table while I stare at you. You are much less hairy than I had imagined." The other man grinned. "And a natural redhead too."

Alistair instinctively clamped his hands over his genitals. Zevran roared with laughter.

"Some things never change, no? And at last I find out that you do blush the same colour all over!"

"Could I please have something to wear?" Alistair pleaded.

"Here."

Zevran threw a bundle of clothes on the table. He didn't even watch while Alistair dressed. That indicated to Alistair that Zevran was not quite his usual self. They were in a small room, empty apart from the table and six chairs. There was no sign of Alistair's armour or weapons, or of Starfang. A solitary griffon banner hung on the wall. Alistair thought he remembered this room from the Wardens' compound in Denerim. He thought he'd once got very very drunk in this room and puked on someone's feet.

"Why the table?" he asked.

"Someone suggested that if you went berserk again, having a table attached to your back might slow you down." Zevran smirked. "I tied you there myself. I did not think you would like having such a personal task carried out by a stranger."

"Obviously not." Alistair sighed. "Why did those arseholes let Amelie be treated like that, be taken away? They could have stopped it."

"Amelie's arrest was part of the plan. You, however, were not. Leliana and I, we told the other wardens that you would be there, that you would not react well but..."Zevran shrugged. "They did not believe us."

Alistair slumped onto the nearest chair. "My head hurts," he moaned.

"Because of the thinking? Because of the head wound? If you are not specific, Alistair, I cannot help you." The elf paused, listening. "Deren is coming. Alistair, trust me now as you have never trusted me. You are not the villain you think you are. Believe me."

The door banged open. A slim man in his thirties walked in. He was dressed in plain clothes in a drab brown colour. He was dark haired and dark skinned with sharp hazel eyes. He glanced at Zevran. "Out!"

The elf made a gaudy bow, then practically skipped out of the room, not quite closing the door behind him.

"I'm Deren, Warden Commander of Ferelden. What did you think you were bloody playing at?"

Alistair considered, briefly. "Clearly, I wasn't thinking, I was berserk. That does tend to have a dampening effect on reason."

"Not this morning! I mean, swanning off and leaving Riordan and Amelie in the lurch with only a new recruit and an archdemon to fight!" Deren roared.

"This is not a good subject for conversation if you don't want it to turn into a semi-crazed brawl. I would be providing all the crazy, of course."

"Stow your cheek, Alistair. You've been in dereliction of your oath and your duty. It's my job to ascertain the truth of the matter as your commander."

Alistair's face hardened. "I left the Grey Wardens."

"No one leaves, not even in death. You swore an oath and by Andraste, you will fulfil it!" Deren thumped his fist on the table.

Alistair stood and began pacing the room. "You could have found me at any time. Why didn't you? If you're so hot on dealing with deserters."

"Most of the time you were still trying to do your job, despite being drunk out of your skull."

The younger man whirled round. "You weren't here, you don't know what it was like! I could barely even say Loghain's name without wanting to burn him down and everything he stood for."

Deren rose, walked to Alistair's side. "Lad, I'm here now. Tell me." He put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Tell me all of it. Make me understand."

"We don't have time! Amelie needs me ...you..." Alistair choked.

"The Amelie situation is being dealt with. I'm here to look after you."

Alistair squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "We went to Ostagar with King Cailan," he began. "Duncan was trying to find at least one more recruit."


	7. Unexpected Friends

**Unexpected Friends**

When Amelie roused, she was amazed that she was in a bed, an actual, proper bed. Upon further inspection she found that she was wearing an excellent quality nightgown and her hair had been put into a simple plait at the nape of her neck. The room was no cell either. The floor had rugs, the walls had hangings. Light came from softly glowing lamps, for there were no windows. The room was warm, despite no hearth.

Next to the bed there was a jug of water on a small table. There were chairs, cupboards, even a bookcase. It was more a guest room than a cell. Amelie could think of no explanation. She hadn't expected to be in Fort Drakon again but this was unlike any prison she knew of. She poured out a glass of water and sipped it delicately. It was cool and fresh.

There was a tap at the door and a man about her own age came in. He was dressed in a blue mage robe and Amelie recognised taint in him. A Warden? Something else, something worse?

"How are you feeling, Amelie? I was angered by the damage Anora's brutes did to you. Unfortunately I had to let them live." He smiled at her familiarly, as if he were an old friend.

"Do I know you?" Amelie asked.

"Oh! I apologise. Of course you don't recognise me, I was forgetting my change of appearance. It's Avernus, Amelie."

Amelie's eyes widened in shock and horror. She had been told of Avernus' death more than a year ago. Levi Dryden had sent word to Amaranthine. How could this be?

"I see you wondering. Now, it's plain you aren't eating enough and while you are in my care I shall feed you up. There isn't enough flesh covering that lovely skeleton of yours. While you eat, I shall explain."

Avernus collected a tray from someone waiting at the door and put it on the bed next to Amelie. It was piled with different meats, breads and cheeses, fruit, cakes and biscuits. He moved an armchair closer and settled himself down.

"Eat, Amelie. Your body is weak and you need sustenance."

She regarded the food with a mix of hunger and revulsion. Since Duncan's birth she had had less and less appetite. Eating had become a chore. She couldn't keep down anywhere near the amount of food she had consumed previously. Still, if he wanted her to eat, eat Amelie would, and let the vomit fall where it may.

As Amelie picked at morsels of bread, Avernus spoke. He explained that during the months she, Wynne and Morrigan had spent at Soldier's Peak he had first peeked at Morrigan's grimoires then studied them intensively. Knowing he did not have the years left to raise a son, Avernus had sent dream lures to trap a young male mage. It had taken several attempts before someone suitably malleable had shown up but Avernus had been prepared to try and try. Flemeth's methods had needed some changes but the new body had had a Chantry upbringing so was nearly was obedient as required. Amelie remained horrified and it killed any desire to eat but every time she stopped Avernus chided her until she took another mouthful. Once he had settled into his new body it had apparently been simple to slip away from Soldier's Peak without the Drydens noticing, leaving his useless old body for them to cremate.

"And now you are here, where ever here is," Amelie commented, concealing her disgust.

"Yes. I found a patron willing to provide the materials required for research."

"People, you mean."

"Among other items," Avernus agreed.

"Am I your prisoner or your patron's?" she asked.

"That is difficult to answer. I regard you as a guest. My patron regards you with loathing."

"That doesn't narrow down the list of possibilities," Amelie grinned.

"I suppose not." Avernus selected a crisp green apple from the tray and crunched into it. "I do so enjoy having a full set of working teeth again."

"Any further clues? Or will you just tell outright who is holding me here?"

Avernus paused in his eating. "I suppose it will do no harm to say that Queen Anora had you brought here. Or that she expects you suffer unimaginably in my hands."

"Are you going to satisfy her expectations, Avernus? I mean, you claimed me as one of your most successful experiments. Would it not be a waste to kill me?"

"This is the very matter which has been confounding me, Amelie. You are as perceptive as ever. I might learn much from examining your body and blood. Indeed, your blood might prove key in my current research. Unfortunately, you are not the same as the others here."

"How do I differ?" Amelie asked, barely able to breath.

"Well, I do not regard you as expendable. When we first met we disagreed over my methods and so forth but you did not kill me, merely recommended I try a different path. And you were right! On that different path I made a most useful discovery. Accordingly I gained respect for your insight and intelligence. I also respect your practical skills, fighting and the like."

"Thank you," she replied, unnerved.

"I have come to regard you as nearly my equal, someone who might contribute much by working alongside me as a partner."

Amelie blinked rapidly, startled again. "I, er, I don't know what to say."

Avernus sighed. "My patron also wishes you to have a lingering, excruciating death so disapproves intensely of the proposed partnership." Avernus stared intently at Amelie with his new blue eyes.

She nodded slowly. Avernus was saying that Anora and the patron were different people.

"I am my patron's house guest and that places me under a considerable obligation. But enough of this serious talk! Have you seen dear Sophia recently?"

"Sophia, who I met at Soldier's Peak?" She didn't ask, _The demon I killed?_

"Yes. I must say that she was a most delightful guest. Always bringing me little surprises, and such a charming conversationalist, so sharp. There are times I quite miss her company." Avernus fiddled with the meat platter. "I do wish you would eat more, Amelie."

Thoughts were racing through Amelie's head. Avernus might be a centuries-old murderer with a hunger for blood magic and demon lore, but it seemed the old Grey Warden loyalties held true. He could be an ally. He might have changed his body but perhaps he still felt bound by obligation and oath to the Order. Clearly, he was not free here either, possibly trapped as he had trapped Sophia Dryden's body and the demon within it. Given Avernus' nature, he might not have even cared, as long as he were given the tools and materials he needed for his experiments.

I'm lucky he considers himself under an obligation to me, Amelie mused. I'd have thought saving my life and my child would have released him from that, but he doesn't agree, it seems.

"I must go now. I will leave the tray. When I return, I want to see all that food gone, Amelie. And don't forget to rest! You need plenty of pillow time too." With those words Avernus stood and hurried out.

Amelie picked through the meat. In the middle of the pile was an amulet with a Tevinter rune inscribed upon it. She didn't recognise the rune and wondered how far she could trust Avernus. Should she risk wearing it? Could she risk not wearing it? Decision reached, Amelie fastened the amulet around her neck. Next, the pillows. Hidden within she found two rings - her own colour changing ring and another that seemed to hum with taint. More of Avernus' compound magic? Again, Amelie felt she had little choice. The Warden mage might be lost to common humanity but she did not judge him feline enough to toy with her in this manner. She believed that she had gained an understanding of Avernus during her confinement at Soldier's Peak. Amelie felt that at this point he was genuinely trying to help her. Why and for how long were two entirely different matters for consideration. Amelie's mission here was to stay alive while waiting for 'rescue'. She dare not hint anything of the sort to Avernus in case he was playing a double game. Right now she didn't believe she could gain anything from pondering the mage's motivations other than a sore head. Especially when there was another matter she couldn't deny.

Amelie couldn't keep her mind away from Alistair. Seeing him again, in the audience, not close but definitely attainable, had nearly wrecked her. He had been haggard and thin, with rancid hair and beard, with a gaze that pierced her heart. Continuing the speech had been beyond hard. Amelie had tried to pour all her feelings into her eyes and voice in the hope he would understand her regret and sorrow. She thought perhaps Alistair had. His expression had changed. Amelie had longed to jump down from the platform to kneel at his feet and beg for forgiveness.

That wasn't the plan though. Duty came before love, always. Amelie had had an intense need to do something, anything. She saw him push his way through the crowd as the guards came for her. It was a matter of moments to remove her sword and throw it to him. Amelie had been hoping that Alistair would understand all she was trying to convey with this single action, when a lifetime might not contain words enough to explain.

She hadn't seen clearly what happened next. A guard had hit her, and behind him Amelie had seen Alistair tense. She recognised that particular tension. So did Oghren. Even as Alistair had been drawing Starfang and preparing to charge, the dwarf had shouted a warning. Amelie had only caught glimpses of subsequent events as the guard continued to beat her. Alistair had shrugged off the wardens like they were straw men, had forced his way onto the steps.

On the one hand, he was going to ruin their plan, she had thought. On the other, he had gone berserk when he saw her getting hurt. Surely that had to mean he still cared for her? Perhaps he didn't love her any more but maybe he didn't loathe her either. It was a hope that sustained her through the savage beating.

Amelie remembered the last time she had looked at her reflection. Avernus was right, she was too thin. Her stomach growled and she built a beef and cheese sandwich. She'd need all her strength soon. Food then sleep. Just the like the mage ordered.

If she was lucky, she would dream.


	8. The Reveal

**The Reveal**

Alistair felt he had been dumped in scalding water, then freezing water, and then wrung out like a sock. Deren had dragged every detail out of Alistair, from meeting Amelie at Ostagar up to the battle of Denerim. Everything was scrutinised and picked apart. He had insisted on being told about Alistair's feelings for Amelie - what had attracted Alistair to Amelie? had he tried to resist the attraction? when had he first realised the strength of his feelings for her? Alistair didn't understand the relevance. Why did Deren need to know why he'd loved Amelie? He answered regardless, and found relief in it. Deren didn't criticise or second-guess, he asked his questions and listened intently to the answers. Alistair was confused but glad when Deren skipped from the defeat of the Archdemon straight to his wanderings in search of enemies he could battle.

"If you were so keen to die, and so keen to fight darkspawn, why didn't you go to the Deep Roads?" Deren eventually asked.

"I suppose I wanted to die outside, in the fresh air, in the sunlight," Alistair replied. "I suppose I should have gone to the Deep Roads but it didn't feel right."

Satisfied, Deren had sent him off to bathe. "Don't bother shaving!" had been the final, strange instruction.

A servant showed Alistair to a wash room where the bath was already filled with steaming water. The towels were dry, with no holes or ragged edges. The soap had a pleasant scent, unlike the nuggish aroma of the little used bar in his pack. Alistair scrubbed himself vigorously, lathered soap thoroughly into his hair and beard. He had the urge to shave. Deren's order stopped him, though he wondered why the Warden Commander wanted him to stay bearded.

Dried and dressed, Alistair left the wash room and followed his ears. He could hear Shale's rumbles and Oghren's raucous laughter. The sound led him to a room two doors down from the one in which he'd awoken. When he walked in, the conversation stopped.

"I'll, er, go again, shall I?" he offered, aware his face had changed colour. Maker, would he ever stop blushing?

"Oh, it is wonderful to see you," Leliana gushed. She bounced up from her chair and across the room to plant a very unSisterly kiss on his lips. "We were talking about you."

"I gathered as much," he replied dryly. "You're a full sister now, Leliana?"

"Mmm, yes. After our experiences searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes and ending the Blight, I could not doubt my path any longer. I was in Haven for a long time. I liked it there. I was called back to Denerim six months ago."

Alistair had forgotten how the simplest question unleashed a barrage of words from the bard. He was unsure what to say next, that wouldn't launch another assault upon his ears. He settled for, "That's very nice."

Leliana opened her mouth again but Morrigan nipped in first.

"Come and sit down, Alistair. There is tea and cake."

"Oh, yes, thank you very much." He took the seat furthest from the witch and helped himself to a large chunk of cake. "Only tea? Nothing, ah, stronger?"

"No," Morrigan replied firmly. "If the dwarf can drink tea, you can drink tea."

Oghren and Alistair pulled faces at each other. Nevertheless, Alistair accepted the cup of tea Morrigan passed to him.

"Why, this is just as I like it!" he exclaimed, "Great guess, Morrigan."

The witch ignored him, taking dainty nibbles of cake instead. Alistair shifted position to face Oghren.

"That's a fine black eye," he said. "Been brawling again?"

"Sodding nughumper!" Oghren yelled.

"That was random," Alistair commented. "Unless ..."

Leliana giggled. "You gave him the black eye this morning, Alistair. You elbowed him in the face. Oghren's a bit cross about it. Morrigan won't heal him."

"Tis only a bruise," Morrigan said, "it does not need magic. Truly, I believe Wynne spoiled you all with her constant healing spells. Oh, I've bit my tongue! Zap! All better. Thank you, lovely Wynne."

"You and Wynne still don't get on, I take it," Alistair laughed.

"Sometimes less, sometimes more. The further away she is, the more I like her. I have not seen her now for some months so I'm feeling almost complimentary about the old windbag."

Alistair's tea went down the wrong way. Initially he feared he would choke to death. Oghren's helping fist pounding on his back offered an alternate demise. Leliana had to pull Oghren away.

"Wow, you don't let grudges fester," Alistair muttered grimly. His spine felt bruised from the hammering it had had. "Listen, change of subject. I had a dog with me this morning. White bitch, rather homely looking, intelligent. Where did she get to? She normally sticks pretty close to me."

There was a sudden, vast silence. Even Shale, who had made a point of ignoring Alistair, looked embarrassed.

"What's happened to my dog?" Alistair demanded. "Oghren, have you hurt my best friend?"

The dwarf fiddled with his beard and wouldn't look up. Shale pretended she was glaring at birds in the garden and Leliana was hiding her face behind a cushion.

"You have, haven't you? I blacked your eye and you killed my dog. I'll sodding nug hump you, you short arsed, dung sniffing ..."

"Alistair!" Morrigan intervened. "Oghren did not hurt the dog."

"Then where is she?"

"Right here," the witch replied sadly.

"No, she isn ... Oh, I've been a sodding idiot. It was you, all along. What a typically nasty, devious trick. Did you enjoy watching how I degraded myself day after day? Did you learn enough of my shameful secrets? I bet you sniggered all day long at what a foul drunk the stupid templar had become." Alistair smashed his hand through the tea things, sending them crashing into pieces on the floor.

"I was trying to be a friend to you, Alistair." Morrigan's voice sounded almost pleading.

"How? You've learned everything about me and I've learned nothing about you. You never give anything back, Morrigan. How is that friendship?" Alistair ranted.

"Given nothing back! Rot you, templar. Crawl back to your ditch." Morrigan's temper exploded and she stormed out of the room.

"Yes, it is still the idiot I remember," Shale said smugly.

Alistair sank down into his chair and dropped his head into his hands. Tears were stinging his eyes. He found it hard to believe that the first good thing to happen to him since the end of the Blight had been another lie. He had truly thought the dog loved him. They had shared food and blankets, played games together. All along it had just been Morrigan, spying on him. He heard the little intake of breath that Leliana made before speaking.

"Don't say anything, Leliana," he mumbled. "I couldn't bear it."

"You will listen to me, Alistair Therein," Leliana put all her training as bard and Chantry sister into her voice. It was compelling. "If Morrigan's intention was merely to spy, why did she ever enter your camp? Why did she heal your wounds while you slept? She spent months away from her home to learn what? The colour of your vomit? Your favourite kind of rotgut?"

Alistair raised his head. His eyes were red and damp. Leliana's words stabbed into his brain and he considered. He remembered the pus seeping wounds that had seemingly fixed themselves. The wet mornings he had woken up in a tent he didn't remember unpacking, the dog adding her warmth to his body. The dreams of someone holding back his hair while he vomited and washing his face afterwards. He remembered the ailing drunk he had been when the dog showed up, and the nearly-fit, not-quite drunk he was now. He had never trusted the witch much, never liked her much either but Alistair was a fair man. Yesterday Alistair had thought the dog had saved his life. Today he knew it was Morrigan who had saved him.

"I'm not an idiot," he declared. "I'm an ungrateful nughumping gobbet of dick cheese."

"That you are," Oghren agreed. The dwarf produced a flask from inside his clothes and took a swig. Alistair grabbed the flask and took a swallow.

"Where will Morrigan have gone?" he asked Leliana.

"Her room probably. Down the hall, first left, third door on the right," she answered. "Good luck."

"You'll sodding need it," Oghren chuckled.

Alistair berated himself during the short walk. If he had even once used his brain, he'd have realised that the dog was not, well, a dog. He probably could have even worked out she was Morrigan. Except he'd been nearly constantly drunk for months when she'd shown up. Three weeks ago, he'd been drunk merely half the time and he still hadn't put things together. Today, he realised, he had been sober all day.

"And still managing to cock things up," he muttered.

He reached the door Leliana had specified. Alistair wasn't feeling particularly brave; he decided reckless would be an adequate substitute. He opened the door without knocking and practically threw himself into the room.

"Morrigan, I'm an ungrateful cretin. I apologise."

The witch quickly turned away. Alistair glimpsed what, on any other woman he would instantly named 'tears'. On Morrigan's face they bewildered him, then he felt ashamed all over again. He strode across the room, put his hands on her shoulders and shifted her round to face him. Swallowing hard, Alistair embraced her. Morrigan remained tense and still within the circle of his arms.

"I'm incredibly thoughtless and ungrateful. Stupid, too. I can't apologise enough for how I reacted."

Morrigan said nothing. It was scary, that silence.

"I'd be dead if you hadn't looked after me, I know that. It was the shock. I'd no clue, none whatsoever. Turn me into a frog if it would make up for my big mouth."

The witch exhaled and leaned her head on Alistair's 'd forgotten how tall she was. "It would annihilate the average intelligence of the entire Thedas frog population," she said.

"Ouch!"

"Frogs would commit mass suicide rather than be associated with a moron like you."

"Double ouch!"

"Toads would immediately disown frogs as their cousins. That's how big an idiot you are, Alistair."

"Apology accepted then?" Alistair stroked Morrigan's human head much as he had stroked her canine one.

"There needs to be significantly more grovelling and gifts first. Definitely gifts."

"A nice lamb bone?"

"Expensive, shiny gifts, simpleton."

Alistair started to relax. She hadn't killed him immediately and she wasn't going to turn him into a frog. If he grovelled just a tad more, Morrigan might explain why she'd found him at all, never mind stopped him dying from blood poisoning, alcohol poisoning or a host of other causes. The Morrigan he had known during the Blight would not have done so without a very strong and probably very selfish reason. That Morrigan would have been angry at his ingratitude, she wouldn't have been ... upset. He shied away from the crying word. Alistair wasn't quite ready to accept the witch had feelings he could hurt. Thinking hard, he didn't notice the door open.

"OY! Unhand my wife!"

Alistair sprang away from Morrigan as if she had caught on fire. An absolutely huge man was glaring at him from the doorway.

"Nothing was going on, nothing at all," he stammered.

"Get out!" the man roared.

Alistair squeezed past the veritable giant to make his escape.

Morrigan laughed, "And people say I am cruel, husband."

The witch's silver laughter followed Alistair as he hurried down the corridor. "Sodding apostate," he groaned.


	9. The Plot Thickens

**The Plot Thickens**

Alistair was on his way back to Leliana, Oghren and Shale. He was lost in his thoughts, paying attention to his surroundings. His attacker therefore ambushed him with ease, first with a shield bash to the knee and then a sharp smack on the leg with a wooden sword.

"Hey! Steady on!" Alistair exclaimed, backing away from the tot. "What have I ever done to you?"

"Stranger! Bad man!" the little boy shouted, aiming another sword blow.

Alistair dodged the blow, then disarmed the child with one sharp yank. The child began to cry.

"Maker! Will this day never end?" Alistair knelt and presented the boy with his little sword. "Here you are. I'm a Grey Warden, you just haven't met me before."

The child grabbed his weapon and stopped crying immediately. He narrowed brown eyes suspiciously.

"New warden?" he asked.

"New to you," Alistair replied.

The boy stuck the toy sword through his belt and tried to tidy his hair. There was a tuft at the front which remained boy then stuck his hand out in greeting. For the umpteenth time that day Alistair's stomach lurched. There was something familiar about the boy, something weirdly familiar. He took the proffered hand, shook it, then turned it over to get a better look. It was a miniature version of his own. This was something he hadn't anticipated, couldn't have expected. The boy was so like him, it was heartrending. How had Cailan's bastard ended up with the Grey Wardens? Alistair didn't even try to resist, he had to hug his nephew.

"I'm pleased to meet you," he said.

There were running footsteps and a woman dashed round the corner.

"Where are you, naughty boy?" she called. She stopped dead when she saw Alistair with his arms around the child.

Alistair straightened up. "Hello. Have you come to arrest this bandit? He's been lying in wait for unwary travellers."

The blonde managed a half smile. Alistair put her sickly expression down to shock at seeing a stranger with an uneven beard hugging her child.

"I'm Alistair, new in town," he said with a smile, trying to reassure her.

"I'm Lydia Dryden. I think you know my Uncle Levi?" she replied.

He nodded. That explained their presence here, he decided.

"I'm Duncan," the boy piped up.

"That's a good name," Alistair remarked. "I had a friend called Duncan."

"My ma and da did too."

Lydia reached out to take Duncan's hand. "We have to go, Duncan. Uncle Renny is waiting for us."

"Good to meet you," Alistair said. "Take care."

He watched as Lydia dragged a reluctant Duncan back the way she'd come. His own bastard birth hung on him like a heavy weight. Alistair knew exactly what it was like to be the secret son of a king. Poor Duncan. At least he still has his mother, he thought. Hopefully that will give him a better childhood than I had. He wondered if Lydia had met Cailan because of Duncan, or if Duncan had met the Drydens through Cailan. Alistair was terrible at judging children's ages. He reckoned Duncan was about four years old, maybe a bit less. Not old enough to remember his da, if he'd even been born in time to meet Cailan. It added an extra layer of sadness to Alistair and he decided he'd be a friend to Lydia and her son.

When he reached the sitting room, Shale and Oghren were gone, replaced by Deren.

"Sorted things out with Morrigan?" the Warden Commander asked.

"I think so. Well, she refused to turn me into a frog on the grounds it was unfair to frogs. I took that as a good sign."

Deren grinned. "Don't rely on it, lad. Women are fickle beasts." A cushion thudded into his chest.

"Don't listen to him, Alistair," Leliana instructed. "Deren is a bitter man. Women hate him."

"Ha! They hate me because they know they won't be able to keep me. I'm too sexy to be limited to just one woman."

"No. Women run away from you after they realise your bark is more impressive than your, er, bite." Leliana smirked in a way that clashed awfully with her Chantry outfit.

"Stop!" Alistair cried. "I'm too young and impressionable to hear a Chantry sister say disgusting things like that. I'll be warped for life."

Leliana flung a cushion at his head. Alistair caught it and returned it, with interest.

"Settle down, children. We've got business," Deren said.

Alistair sat on the sofa next to Leliana and waited for Deren to explain. The broken tea things were gone. There was still cake though, and he took another slice.

"My scouts have quartered Denerim and they can't get a sense of Amelie," the other warden said.

"She's not in Fort Drakon?" Alistair asked.

"We knew she wouldn't be there," Leliana answered. "Anora has a secret prison, we think. She has arrested many people who aren't in Fort Drakon or the palace dungeon. They have simply disappeared."

"Which is why we let Amelie get arrested," Deren cut in. "I was sure we'd be able to track her down anywhere in Denerim and find out what Anora's been up to."

"I'm certain Amelie isn't in Denerim," Alistair told them. He closed his eyes and concentrated. It was years since he had tried to use his connection with Amelie rather than block it. "But she isn't far."

"How do you know?" Deren demanded.

Alistair puffed out a long breath. "I'm not sure, to be honest. There's a link between us. It started during the Blight. It got stronger after we'd, um..."

"Become lovers?" Leliana finished.

"Something like that. Anyway, we can get a sense of where the other is, how far and what direction. It's similar to sensing darkspawn, but over much greater distances."

Deren nodded slowly. "That explains a few things I'd wondered about. Could you point my men in the right direction? Give them an idea of distance? Once they're close enough, they'll be able to track Amelie through her taint."

"No, I couldn't," Alistair replied in a firm voice. "I'll go with them, take them straight to Amelie."

"That's not happening."

"Fine. I'll go by myself."

The two wardens glared at each across the room.

"We told you, Deren," Leliana said. "But would you listen to Zev and me? No. You won't be able to bend Alistair to your will, not where Amelie's concerned."

"In the situation as I knew it then, Leliana, it seemed unlikely that Alistair gave a rat's arse about Amelie. Now, I see your point."

"Which is?" Alistair enquired in a nearly polite voice.

"That you're a headstrong idiot. That you won't rest until you're assured of her safety."

Alistair laughed sourly. "Ironic, considering I've spent three years running away from her. I only managed it by staying drunk for long periods, you know. Sobriety always pushed me back in her direction." He sounded jovial. His expression was anything but.

Deren leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on the table.

"I'd assumed that it was the intensity of the situation which led you and Amelie to fall for each other. I've seen it happen before and fizzle out soon enough. The danger and the excitement, the nearly dying repeatedly, it creates a bond that turns into love and sex easily enough." He stared appraisingly at Alistair. "Now I think you two would have ended up together whatever the circumstances of your meeting. You're too bloody alike, peas in a sodding pod, stubborn to the end."

Alistair grinned. "I couldn't possibly comment. Point me in the direction of my kit and we'll get going."

"I'm coming too!" Leliana declared.

"No!" the wardens said together.

"It's Chantry business, I'm coming along."

"It's Chantry business that was handed to the Grey Wardens to sort out," Deren replied. "You're staying."

Leliana pouted. Deren was unmoved. Alistair approved.


	10. The Plot Congeals

**The Plot Congeals**

Alistair found the armoury with no trouble. He had only been to the compound a few times but he generally made a point of remembering where the weapons were kept. It seemed sensible. Zevran was waiting for him, whetting one of his vicious daggers.

"Now you have spoken to everyone else, perhaps we can have our chat?" the elf asked by way of greeting.

"If we must. Do I have to be full of cheer? Or can I show my real feelings?" Alistair picked out his own sword from a rack and inspected the blade.

"I would prefer your real feelings. I am too lazy today to play guessing games, dear Alistair."

"Fair enough. Chat away, dear Zevran." Alistair set a stool down near the elf. He helped himself to one of Zevran's whetstones and began to hone his own blade.

"Did Deren tell you any Grey Warden secrets today? I am assuming not. He is well aware of what you do not know. He chooses to leave you in the dark with regard to the greatest secret of all."

"No doubt you are about to enlighten me, Zev."

"I have given much thought to how to say this. In the end, bluntness is best." Zevran clicked his fingers until Alistair looked up, then stared straight into the other man's eyes.

"It must be a Grey Warden who takes the final blow against an Archdemon. That Warden will die moments later. Killing the Archdemon kills the Warden, whether he is wounded or no." The elf paused. "Riordan did not tell Amelie this until they were at Redcliffe. If you had known this before the Landsmeet, how would you have acted?"

Alistair set down his sword carefully. He was flushed, with anger this time. "I'd have forced Loghain through the Joining at sword point, and his henchmen, to put more bodies between Amelie and death."

Zevran leaned forward to grasp Alistair's shoulder. "That is what I thought, my friend. You would have also fought beside Amelie all the way to the top of Fort Drakon. You too would have been a hero of Ferelden."

"Perhaps. You have a point, Zev, get to it. All this suspense isn't good for my self-control. Nobody likes me when I'm angry."

"Very well. Riordan deliberately didn't tell you. He had read Duncan's assessments of your character. He knew what your most likely reaction to Loghain becoming a Grey Warden would be. Riordan wanted you out of the fight, out of the running for the throne, and probably disgraced to boot."

"Every time I think I can't be surprised any more, the Maker boots me in the bollocks again." Alistair rubbed his face wearily. "Tell me why."

Zevran shrugged. "That I am not so sure about. There is a conspiracy at work. I can smell it. My assassin's senses tingled three years ago when I found Amelie dying from poison. I have been on the hunt ever since."

"Deren didn't mention an attempt on Amelie's life either," Alistair interrupted.

"Because most believe it to be a suicide attempt, no matter what Amelie says," Zevran said.

"You'd better keep talking. Confusion definitely lessens my self-control," Alistair warned. "What reason would Amelie have for killing herself?"

"Let me say, first, that I did not believe it, nor did anyone who knew you, or had seen how you cared for Amelie." Zevran stared at the ground. "Ah, this is difficult for me to say. Again, I shall be blunt." The elf took a deep breath. "Alistair, the reasoning was Amelie tried to suicide out of shame, because you had raped her."

"What!" Alistair roared, leaping to his feet. He could feel the rage biting chunks out of his self-control. That was why Deren had asked his many questions about Alistair's feelings for Amelie. He'd been trying to decide if Alistair had raped her.

"Calm, my friend, calm," Zevran pleaded.

"I need to kill someone," the warden rasped.

"There will be plenty of people to kill later. I am compelled to point out that if you kill me now, I cannot give you any further information."

Alistair recognised the elf's genuine alarm and he roared again, this time with laughter. "Fine, fine. I'll hold off on killing you until I've drained you dry."

Zevran's eyebrows met his hairline. "I do not know which is more frightening, you being berserk, or you making innuendo, Alistair. I am stunned to hear such suggestive words fall from your shapely lips."

"Get on with the conspiracy talk. You can flirt with me later." Alistair sat down again. Laughing had vented his rage for the time being. He'd have to remember that.

"As you command." Zevran changed over daggers, went back to his whet-work. "Amelie had many bruises, a broken nose, there was evidence of sex, you had been heard shouting in her room. It looked straightforward. Once she was conscious, Amelie denied rape, insisted that you had not hurt her, but admitted she did not remember how her nose had been broken or most of the other injuries. She was clearly traumatised though and it was assumed that she was protecting you despite your crimes. There was a call for you to be hunted down like a mad dog. Sten put a stop to that idea."

"Sten?"

"He insisted in a very large, very dangerous way that if his kadan's honour had been compromised, he would do all the hunting required. Amelie said her honour was untouched; would they dare doubt the word of his kadan? It got terribly exciting for a while."

"I dare say," Alistair remarked. "But no one else had assaulted her?"

"Sexually, you mean? I think not. The newest injuries were inconsistent and I understood the context of the older ones."

"Did you? Did you indeed?" The warden's eyes narrowed.

"Moving on - my assassin's senses tingled still further when a pair of lackeys arrived from Anora. They had documents for Amelie to sign, as de facto Warden Commander of Ferelden. Very long, very complicated documents, that would have taken some time to prepare and as they were printed ... and the Archdemon had been dead barely twenty-four hours ..."

"They had been prepared in advance. What were these documents?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just putting Ferelden's Grey Wardens under the direct command of Anora. Recruits to be chosen by Anora or her appointed second. Only Fereldens to serve as Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Limitations on the number of Grey Wardens allowed. Ah, only humans to be recruited. More of the same."

"Amelie would never agree to any of those conditions."

"Precisely why a particular poison was chosen. It takes some time to kill and in the meantime the target is rendered suggestible, eager to please. Fortunately, I was first with Amelie and I recognised the poison immediately. I administered the antidote and made sure Amelie was never alone with anyone I did not trust implicitly. Shale remained in Amelie's room at all times until she was fully recovered from the effects."

Alistair collected his armour and began cleaning it. He followed the elf's reasoning all too easily. Someone had set out to manipulate Amelie and himself, and had certainly succeeded in his case. Anora on the throne with the Grey Wardens as her lapdogs? Alistair had no idea who was pulling these strings now. It sounded like something Loghain had cooked up, but why a plan that could (and had!) end in his own death? Ferelden's greatest general would have left himself an out.

"Loghain is definitely dead?" he asked Zevran.

"I cut his head off to be certain," Zevran replied, "and removed his heart."

"It was definitely Loghain?"

"It was definitely the man who was introduced to me as Loghain, and who spoke at the Landsmeet as Loghain. Beyond that, I cannot say."

"The plan was his but something went wrong. I wonder what..." Alistair mused.

"I can tell you that," Morrigan said. Somehow she had managed to sneak up on even the Crow without alerting him. "I was supposed to save Loghain's life. Amelie stopped me."

"Ah, now do we find out why you were not at the battle of Denerim?" Zev demanded. He was clearly disgruntled at being crept up upon by the witch.

"Indeed. I had a ritual prepared. All Amelie had to do was ask Loghain to have sex with me. They assumed Amelie would be so eager to live she would agree instantly. She refused, of course."

"Why bother going through Amelie? Why didn't you and Loghain simply fuck and be done?" The swear word had an extra virulence coming from Alistair.

"Loghain wanted a hold over Amelie, something that would bind her nearer to him than to the other Grey Wardens," Morrigan replied.

"Had you been working for Loghain all along?" Alistair asked.

"No, never. Riordan approached me in Denerim, after the Landsmeet. He explained that Amelie would be one to kill the Archdemon and that it would kill her, unless I did a certain ritual with Loghain. Even after I realised that Loghain wanted to be able to blackmail Amelie, I was still willing, if it meant that she would live." Morrigan closed her eyes. "I was a fool. I had gibed at you, Alistair, about what would happen if love and duty conflicted, and there I was, choosing love myself."

The men waited for Morrigan to compose her herself, to speak again. Admitting her failures and flaws was hard for her.

"I was going to explain that it was Riordan's idea. Amelie beat me to the punch, literally. She decided she didn't want to run the risk of me putting the proposal to Loghain myself, so she knocked me out. When I awoke, t'was next the morning and I was tied up in a cupboard in Redcliffe Castle."

Alistair and Zevran looked at each other. Alistair bit his bottom lip. Zevran's nose suddenly needed scratching.

"Well, say something!" the witch urged.

"Tied up, you say? In a cupboard? How very embarrassing for you, dear Morrigan," Zevran managed to say.

A snigger erupted from Alistair. "I know this is a very serious conversation, about a very serious subject but ... Amelie left you in a cupboard? Tied up. I, er, I don't know ..."

Alistair's much put upon self-control finally surrendered, and he laughed like a loon. Zevran held out for a few seconds more, then he too collapsed in laughter.

"I hope you both get the pox! Sodding men!" Morrigan stalked out of the armoury, very much like a cat just splashed with water.


	11. Mail Bonding

**Mail Bonding**

Alistair had already put on his arming doublet and hose, and was arranging his armour for the next step when Zevran opened a door he hadn't noticed.

"I think you should choose something from this selection instead," the elf suggested.

Alistair followed him into a room, the contents of which he recognised immediately. Here was the silverite armour they had found in the Brecilian Forest ruins. There, Sophia Dryden's Grey Warden armour. The Armour of Diligence stood next to the blood dragon plate. On elegant racks rested the best of the swords they had acquired: Starfang, Oathkeeper and Asturian's Might, among others. Shields hung on the wall, battered but shining. Seeing these items brought back memories of the battles he and Amelie had fought together.

"It wouldn't be appropriate," Alistair replied.

"It would very appropriate," Zevran contradicted. "The silverite set has not been worn since you left it behind. Seeing you wear it would tell Amelie much."

"Such as, I look good in shiny things?"

"That you are ready to talk to her," the Crow paused, flicked back his hair. "You are ready to talk, ready to resolve the madness that lies between you, no?"

"I'm not sure it can be resolved, Zev. I've been too corrupted by the madness, as you call it." Alistair turned to go.

Zevran grabbed the warden and slammed into the wall. The elf's expression was fierce

"You have a chance to make it right, to win back the woman you love and who loves you. Don't you dare waste it, Alistair! Don't you dare throw it away!"

Alistair pushed Zevran back. "What's this about, Zev? Tell me. Why this intense interest in my relationship with Amelie, in us reconciling? "

Zevran glared at him, tears dripping. "My love betrayed me. I killed her, with these very blades. Then I found out it was a trick, that she had been loyal to me."

"Sweet Andraste! I never even suspected ... Come here."

Alistair put his arms around Zevran awkwardly, trying to comfort him. Part of him noted that the elf was a lot shorter than Morrigan. He was also hoping no one would come in and find him hugging Zev, because with Zevran's reputation, wrong conclusions would be immediate and difficult to escape. Fortunately, Zevran recovered his composure quickly, which he signalled by taking a generous handful of Alistair's posterior and squeezing.

"It's later," he said with a weak smile. "I can flirt with you now, no?"

"Sodding lech. You'll have to help me on this armour though." Alistair gave the elf a gentle shove. "Which sword says 'I love you'? The one which catches fire or the one which sparks lightning?"

"That is indeed a complicated question. Normally, I would suggest that the sword you are born with is the most suit - Ouch! I could assassinate you easily, my friend. My conscience would barely twitch."

Alistair dropped the metal glove with which he had whacked Zevran.

"Start buckling! I'm going to be late."

The waiting wardens did no more than glance at Alistair when he joined them in the courtyard. It was an intimidating welcome which made Alistair glad to be in full plate. As well as his own weapons he had Starfang and Amelie's favourite shield. Zevran had told him the wardens were carrying spare armour for Amelie in case hers was missing. No ceremonial armour this late afternoon. The wardens were kitted out in workaday gear with barely a griffon in sight. Deren ran through the names of the nine men Alistair hadn't met. The thirteenth warden didn't bother trying to remember them, concentrating on more useful labels - mage, archer, axeman.

No formation marching this time either. The group strode quickly through the city, straight for the main gate. Alistair had indicated this was likely the best exit with a minimum of words. Merik had nodded, the others gave no acknowledgement other than a change of direction. A woman ran up to Alistair and pressed a rose into his reluctant hand. "For Amelie," she said.

Merik smiled. "Word got around that roses are Amelie's favourite. We all get given them now, usually to pass along to her if Amelie isn't with us. Around the anniversary we get inundated with bunches of 'em."

Alistair didn't need to ask what anniversary Merik meant. Before the Blight his experience had been that Grey Wardens were treated with wary respect. Out in the countryside he had noticed a change in that attitude. Here in Denerim, it was like night and day. Some children chased them for a while, shouting their names. Merchants waved cheerfully. He tucked the rose stem under the rim of the breastplate, next to his throat.

"It helps that we are few," Merik explained. "People feel they know us, and here we get treated like we're part of everyone's family."

"What about Amaranthine?" Alistair asked. "Howe's death must have left behind some bad feeling for the Grey Wardens."

"A little. Few darkspawn made it that far north, and the Amaranthine folk hadn't felt at immediate risk of horrible death. At darkspawn hands, anyway." Merik shrugged. "The resentment passed quickly once they realised we weren't going to force everyone to become Grey Wardens."

Once past the city gates, Alistair paused, reaching out towards Amelie.

"North," he directed, and on they went.

They were perhaps an hour from Denerim when Alistair stopped dead. He frowned, scanned the area all around the group.

"What is it?" Deren enquired.

Alistair didn't reply. He left the road and walked slowly across a field of grazing cows.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "Can you sense her yet, Deren?"

"Not really. Have you lost her?"

There was mumbling and shuffling from the other men. Clearly, the drunk couldn't live up to his boast of being able to lead them straight to their friend and comrade. Had this whole expedition been a waste of time?

"Orzammar," Alistair muttered again. "I keep thinking of Orzammar." He spun back to the group. "Amelie's underground. We need to find an entrance. There must be tunnels underneath here."

"There isn't anywhere," the mage objected. "It's flat earth for miles. A tunnel entrance would be impossible to hide, we'd have heard about it."

"There isn't anywhere, Deke, you reckon?" Merik said scornfully. "I can see a farmhouse and two barns without even squinting, and you know how rotten my eyesight is."

Deren pursed his lips, considering their options. "We'll start with that barn nearest the road, then the farmhouse, then the other barn. After that, we'll improvise."

The first barn turned out to be a milking shed with a feed store above. There was nothing within to conceal any kind of entrance. The wardens made their way towards the farmhouse, weapons not yet out but ready. An old woman exited the farmhouse and waved at them from the doorstep.

"Lost, are you?" she called.

"Maybe," Deren called back. "We're not sure where we are, so we might be lost, we might not be. Could you help us out?"

"She's a mage," Deke whispered. "Careful."

Deren threw the warden mage a withering look. "Be careful, he says. Bloody hell, it's not like I want to die of old age," he whispered back.

"Surely, surely," the woman replied. "Have you a map?"

Deren rummaged in one of his belt pouches, pretending to search. All the while, the twelve men closed the distance, Deke staying at the rear. Alistair manoeuvred his way near the front of the pack without a problem. Probably because none of them fancy having me guard his back, he told himself.

"Where's the bloody map?" Deren cursed. "Al, you had it last, where did you put it?"

"I gave back to you, you're the one with all the pouches. No, wait, I put it in my inside pocket," Alistair replied, patting his silverite chest.

"I've had enough of your mouth. Wait til we find the bann, and then I'll kick your arse."

More distance closed. The woman didn't seem to have become any more suspicious.

"Yeah, yeah, you've said that before. Never yet managed it, have you?"

"You waited until I was drunk last time, you shiny plated sod," Deren growled.

"I'm always drunk, doesn't slow me down," Alistair grinned, watching the woman out of the corner of his eye. Surely they had to be within Deke's striking distance now? Maker! The woman was starting to spell cast.

Alistair didn't know what she was casting or how fast Deke could react, so he didn't bother waiting. He was close enough and fast enough. The woman was probably only halfway through her cast when he cannoned into her, shield first. She went down like a dead tree. Alistair's momentum carried him through the door into the house. He skidded to a halt. There were half a dozen nasty looking men sporting nasty looking crossbows, and he was their only target.

"Oh sod."  
**  
**


	12. Rescue Me

**Rescue Me**

There's something very wrong with my life, Amelie thought, that I have to be arrested and locked up before I can relax. She tried to remember the last time she had spent an afternoon reading a novel and eating biscuits, and couldn't. Every day was spent either working or healing or both. She hadn't had a lazy morning in bed or an afternoon dozing under a tree or anything resembling a day off since before the end of the Blight. Even when confined to bed because of injuries, Amelie had spent time writing reports or reading martial tomes as soon as she was allowed to sit up.

She'd been aware of Alistair getting closer, and had been trying to deny the excitement fluttering inside. He hadn't looked at her this morning with the fierce hatred of their parting. His stare had been sad and puzzled. And Alistair had wanted to protect her so much that he'd slipped into his berserker state. What did he want from her? Why was he coming to rescue her?

Amelie had investigated the room thoroughly. No armour of course, or any of the associated gear. In the cupboards there were nightgowns, including one that caused Amelie to blush just by looking at it. Why, it covered practically nothing and the material's exquisite fineness meant it wouldn't conceal much either. What a strange thing to find even in this strange cell. There was little resembling outdoor clothing, certainly no shoes or boots. The clothes were suited to a teryna's private breakfast parlour - light, floaty and beribboned. Amelie had selected the most practical one, the one that covered the most skin and had the fewest lacy bits. She expected her rescuers to arrive with something suitable for her to wear. She certainly didn't want them to find her wearing anything extremely frilly and feminine. Or seductive... Amelie closed her eyes and envisioned Alistair bursting through the door, flaming sword at the ready, to see her reclining on the bed wearing little more than ribbons and a scrap of delicate lawn. A long absent sensation began to warm her loins and Amelie indulged herself, picturing Alistair's face as he stared at her near naked body.

Abruptly Amelie realised that Alistair was right there, close enough that she should be able to see him. She opened her eyes and rolled off the bed. After some pacing and concentration, Amelie concluded that he was actually above, moving about.

"Sweet Andraste, I hope nothing other than my presence went through that link, given what I was thinking about," she said aloud. She continued in a squeaky voice, "Alistair, I'm overwhelmed by sorrow that I was such a bitch to you, and please overlook the fact I was just having extremely dirty thoughts about exactly how I'd like you rescue me." She shook her head. "Back to work, Amelie. Focus!"

She dismantled the bedside table crudely, which left her with two pairs of reasonably stout clubs and some bits of wood. The first enemy through that door was going to get a nasty bang on the head.

ooooOOOOoooo

Alistair now had his helm firmly shut. It was probably essential, because he simply could not wipe the grin off his face. Amelie would have been laughing, he was certain, if she'd seen it. Deren, with the remains of two crossbow bolts sticking out of his shield, had not seen the funny side. To be honest, Alistair had surprised himself.

Face with six crossbowmen firing simultaneously, Alistair had flung himself to the ground with a resounding clang. At pretty much the same moment, Deke's spell cast at the enemy mage had come into effect, the mage who was still on the floor. The icy blast had shot over it's intended target and Alistair, through the flying bolts and into three of the bowmen. It had destroyed two bolts outright, sent two spinning madly, and slowed the last two enough that they didn't punch straight through Deren's shield, who had been hard on Alistair's heels. The enemy had raced to reload as wardens charged through the doorway. Alistair, aware he wouldn't be able to stand in time to fight, had taken advantage of the lucky position in which he'd landed. He had rolled sideways into a convenient pair of enemy legs. The manoeuvre had knocked the man off-balance and prevented Alistair being stomped by stampeding wardens. It had not, however, impressed or amused most of his supposed allies. Neither had Alistair's reply, when tasked with his impulsive charge and ridiculous roll.

"Any means necessary!" he'd quipped. Merik, at least, had laughed.

The entrance to the tunnels hadn't needed finding. No concealment had been attempted but then stairs wide enough for three to use abreast weren't going to be hidden under a rug. The initial section had been roughly hewn, angling downwards sharply. The guards who had charged up that angle had found it hard going and the wardens had splattered them aside effortlessly. After that, they hadn't met any further resistance and Alistair was finding that extremely worrisome. The numbers of people supposedly locked up here needed a lot more guards than the fifteen or sixteen they'd overcome.

Once levelled out the tunnel construction changed dramatically. Now the walls and floor were more dwarven than human but with a style to them that was completely new to Alistair. He hadn't seen anything similar in Orzammar or the lost thaigs he'd explored. The wooden doors, however, were completely Ferelden, down to the paw shaped door knobs.

The rooms they'd searched so far had been empty of everything except furniture. Alistair knew that Amelie was further down this tunnel but he was not impulsive, or berserk, enough to risk leaving enemies at his back. The accommodation was more like a nobleman's hunting lodge than a prison. One large room had had its chunky furniture shoved against one wall, and the space taken up instead by long tables covered in alchemical equipment. It reminded Alistair of Avernus' lair at Soldier's Peak, without the centuries' worth of dust and uneaten food. Some of the leftovers here could still be recognised as vegetables, bread, etc.

When they neared the door behind which he sensed Amelie, Alistair abandoned restraint. He rushed forward and flung himself against it. The sturdy wood needed a second attack but then Alistair burst through into the room, the Green Blade aflame. He didn't understand Amelie's reaction though. Why did she first blush then giggle like a maniac? It's not like there were gravy stains down his chest or anything. Had she been drugged?

And what was she wearing? Alistair's only experience of outfits like that had been inadvertent glimpses of a newly married Isolde flitting about Redcliffe Castle, and what he'd seen during quick sideways glances in The Pearl. He wasn't altogether sure if he liked how Amelie looked in ruffles and frills and all those ribbons. Maker, were all those ribbons necessary? The low neckline, revealing the valley between Amelie's breasts, now that he did like. Alistair wrenched his gaze away from Amelie's cleavage with the greatest difficulty.

"That is you, isn't it, Alistair?" Amelie asked.

He remembered his helm was still closed and he took it off. Sweat had made his hair curl and cling to his scalp. So much for prettying myself up, he thought.

"One rescue, partly completed," he joked. He had never felt this awkward with Amelie, not even on their first proper night together. He wanted to fall at her knees and beg forgiveness. Remembering the eleven men about to come in barely checked the impulse. And besides, a hateful voice whispered, shouldn't she be begging for your forgiveness? Traitorous bitch!

Deren and Merik were next in. Merik dumped a couple of packs onto the bed.

"Some light armour for you, Amelie," he said. "I wasn't going to tote any of that sodding plate you like."

"Good to see you too," Amelie grinned, opening the packs and emptying them. "Yep, yep, gloves, helm, yep ... Merik, where are the boots?"

"In one of the packs," he replied.

"No boots! Merik, how could you forget the sodding boots?"

"I might have been a bit preoccupied," he muttered, turning pink.

"Morrigan showed up this morning," Deren put in.

"Well, it won't be the first time I've fought barefoot." Amelie looked over at Alistair and moistened her lips.

Alistair's stomach tried to turn itself inside out. Repeatedly. He remembered that fight, and what happened afterwards, vividly. Not for the first time, or even the twentieth, Alistair was glad for the layer of metal concealing his crotch from observation. There was a cheeky glint to Amelie, hinting that she knew exactly what he was thinking about and she was thinking about it too. He swallowed, hard. He had to change the subject before his armour became too uncomfortable in a certain area.

"Interesting torture technique you've been subjected to," he commented pretty much randomly. "Personally I'd confess dogs were cats before wearing that much lace and froth."

"I know, I know, all your dresses are bare of adornment," Amelie smirked provocatively. "Now, unless you three are utterly desperate to see me naked, perhaps you'd care to turn round?"

Quite by accident, Alistair found that if he turned his head a smidgen sideways, he could see the reflection of Amelie's back in a mirror. He decided to savour the view, as a reward for breaking down the door. The silky gown slid to the floor as Amelie twisted to pick up her arming doublet, and saw Alistair watching her. Slowly, she turned to face the mirror. Alistair clenched his jaw as Amelie's breasts moved into view. Her hand was resting on her left shoulder and, her gaze never leaving his, she moved it down to cup her left breast. A tattoo was revealed, of a red rosebud. Alistair thought if he bit down any harder, he'd break his own jaw. It had been their private joke, that Amelie should get a tattoo to commemorate the first time he had kissed her own, special rosebud.

"Deren, while I'm dressing, tell me what you've found. What has the resistance been like so far?" Amelie asked, in a perfectly normal voice.

Alistair didn't think he was capable of speaking as Amelie teased him with her body. It had never occurred to him that getting dressed could be as seductive as getting undressed, and yet Amelie was managing it. He could hear his blood thumping in his ears. The noise drowned out what Deren was saying.

"Right, I'm decent now," she said, once her padded undergarments were on. "This will go faster if someone helps me. Alistair?" Amelie invited.

Somehow, Alistair managed to walk over to her, taking his gloves off. When Zevran had said Amelie would be pleased to see me in the silverite armour, Alistair thought, I bet he wasn't expecting her to react like this. If they had been alone in the room, it wouldn't have mattered how many angry wardens were shouting outside the locked door, he would have been out of his armour instantly and throwing her on the bed. As it was, he reached out with shaking hands to help fit the cuirass over her head and settle it properly. Their hands worked in concert, as they had many times previously, but it had never been sexual before. Amelie took every opportunity to caress his hands and slyly stroked his head when he bent over to adjust the fitting of the armour skirt. She was torturing him. It was the last punishment he would have expected, and punishment it truly was.

"This is not appropriate, and it's wrong," he murmured, no louder than a breath.

"I ... don't ... care," Amelie replied, equally quietly.

"You should hate me."

"I don't."

With every buckle buckled and every adjustment perfect, Amelie took a deep breath.

"Deren, Merik, if you please, I'd like a moment alone with Alistair. You know. Before we go on, I have to settle something with him."

Deren rolled his eyes. "Do we have time?"

"If I'm to trust him at my back, we have to make the time, and I'm not going to do it with an audience, right?" Amelie shot back.

"Right, two minutes."

"I need five, Deren. Definitely five minutes."

The two wardens left the room, Merik making a valiant attempt to close the broken door as completely as possible.

"Don't, Amelie," Alistair begged. "Don't... We can't sort things out here, we're in the middle of a battle. Practically. There's too much to say. Maker knows, you deserve me grovelling at your feet but this isn't the time."

"Shut up, nughumper, and sodding well kiss me. That's an order, Warden!"

Amelie reached up to pull him down to her. Alistair twisted his head, trying to avoid Amelie's mouth but she was insistent and besides, how could he resist something he desperately wanted? He groaned, wrapped his arms around his love, and lost himself in her kiss. This has to be a dream, Alistair thought, before coherent thought was washed away by the taste of Amelie in his mouth.


	13. Take me in your arms

**Hold me in your arms**

Merik was leaning against the opposite wall about fifteen feet from The Door. Deren had taken the other lads off to sweep the nearby rooms. Merik had volunteered to remain and tell Amelie the plan when she finished 'settling things'. Merik had nearly choked when he'd realised the full extent of Deren's obliviousness. As far as he could tell, the only thing Amelie wanted settled was who was going to be on top. Given that Alistair was inconveniently in full plate, that particular conversation would have to be postponed. Women! Always wanting attention at the most inconvenient times.

The loud clang from the room didn't disturb him. Alistair did have a way of knocking into things. The masculine cries for help did bother him, however, and a few long strides took Merik through the battered door. Now, he'd been a Grey Warden for twelve years and he'd seen some strange and disturbing sights during that time but this ... Alistair, still armoured, was flat on his back on the floor. He was holding Amelie's wrists, who was sitting astride him and clutching a small knife in her left hand.

"It will be much quicker if you let me cut through the straps," Amelie was insisting.

"Merik! Thank the Maker! I think Amelie's been possessed or something." Alistair looked incredibly grateful to see Merik.

Merik put his hands under Amelie's arms and hoisted her into the air. The surprise loosened her hold on the knife, which clanged harmlessly off Alistair's breastplate. Amelie kicked backwards at Merik. However, she was barefoot and he was in chainmail - the move was not a smart one. Alistair scrambled to his feet.

"How did you provoke Amelie into killing you immediately?" Merik asked.

"She's not trying to kill me, she's trying to get my sodding armour off," Alistair retorted.

"Let me go, Merik! At once! Then get your arse out of this sodding room," Amelie ranted.

"Do I want to know why she wants your armour off?" Merik ignored Amelie entirely. He was now holding her against his body, and her heels were drumming against his legs.

Alistair shook his head in disbelief. "Why do you think? She's gone absolutely rampant for sex. My whole life flashed before my eyes when she knocked me to the floor."

"What's the problem?" Amelie demanded. "I want Alistair and I want him right now. I don't have to take all of his armour off, just bits of it."

Merik stood, stunned. This had to be his most bizarre conversation ever. No one will believe me, he thought mournfully, which is bloody tragic.

"It isn't a spell," Alistair said. "I've already tried dispelling magic and nothing happened."

"Maybe she's just really really horny. I've known her for three years, and she hasn't taken a lover in that time."

Merik watched Amelie's arms reaching desperately towards Alistair, hands grabbing at the air. She was making little pleading noises.

"Trust me, even when she is really really horny, Amelie would rather unbuckle than have to repair the straps later."

Alistair was keeping a safe distance from Merik and Amelie. Merik found that if he moved forward, Alistair would leap away like a startled sheep. It was extremely entertaining.

"I haven't seen that ring before," Merik commented, "the dark one on her right hand."

"Well, get it off her then!"

"How? I'm holding her up in the air. If I put Amelie down, your chastity is in serious danger."

Alistair edged towards them. Merik didn't know what Alistair thought Amelie might be able to do to him while dangling five or six inches up, but it had certainly unmanned the younger warden. Merik could barely restrain his laughter. He wished Zevran were here to share his enjoyment. Alistair managed to grab hold of Amelie's right arm while avoiding her left hand. When he touched the ring to remove it, Merik smelled burning flesh. Alistair paled but pulled the ring from Amelie's finger without making a sound. Amelie started to struggle more violently.

"What about that amulet?" Alistair asked, speaking around a mouthful of injured fingers.

"Amelie usually wears her Grey Warden pendent," Merik replied.

"Right, then the amulet goes too."

Alistair picked up the knife and circled round to approach from the rear. Merik shifted Amelie a little and Alistair cut the amulet's cord. Amelie stopped trying to break free. When Alistair then pulled the amulet from around her neck, Merik felt Amelie's whole body slacken.

"I think you might be safe now," Merik said, depositing the woman onto the bed.

When several seconds went by without Amelie flinging herself at Alistair, both men exhaled in joint relief. Merik thought she was in nothing more serious than a faint.

"I never want to go through anything like that ever again," Alistair said fervently.

Merik's grin split his face in two. "Good job she picked you," he replied.

"Why?"

"Many reasons. She already has reason to hate you. My wife would kill me if Amelie came onto me. Your armour is the hardest to get off in a hurry. Deke's still a virgin, how traumatised would he be? Deren would drop dead instantly from embarrassment..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get the idea," Alistair interrupted. "Obviously me getting molested was the best plan. Do you think she'll remember what happened?

"I bloody well hope so," Merik smirked. "I can't wait to wind her up about it."

"Will I remember what?" Amelie asked from the bed. She sat up. "I feel hungover."

Merik knew the exact instant Amelie remembered her recent behaviour. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open and she went a fantastic shade of red from her hairline down to the neckline of her cuirass. That is, Merik thought, the perfect reaction. She hunched forward into a little ball. Her back was flushed too.

"It wasn't your fault, Amelie," Alistair said, still staying well back. "I think it was this ring and amulet you were wearing that made you behave like that."

Amelie didn't say anything.

"No harm, no grudge, as they say."

Merik thought Alistair had been trying to sound reassuring. Unfortunately, the words came out a bit high pitched.

Amelie uncurled, got off the bed. She glared at Merik and Alistair in turn.

"We will never speak of this again," she commanded.

"Have to disagree there," Merik remarked. "We need to work out what happened, and that means talking to Deke about it at the very least."

"I suppose so but afterwards, we will never speak of this again."

"Absolutely not," Alistair agreed.

Merik ignored them both. He was definitely going to recount this tale over and over.

"Where did you get these items anyway?" Alistair asked.

"Avernus. I'm going to carve out his gizzards with bluntest, rustiest knife I can find," Amelie replied.

"I'll hold him down for you, not that he needs to be, given his desiccated condition," Alistair said.

"Oh, he isn't desiccated any more. Now he's got a nice, new, young body to stroll around in."

"How did he manage that?" Alistair demanded.

Amelie stared at Merik. "Avernus apparently spent a lot of time studying Morrigan's grimoires, which taught him how to steal other people's bodies."

"Well, isn't that a happy thought. Remind why you wouldn't let me shove my sword through Avernus the first time we met him, Amelie," Alistair responded.

"Well, Alistair, if I had let you do that, I'd be dead and you wouldn't be a father," Amelie retorted.


	14. Where did our love go?

**Where did our love go?**

"Repeat that last sentence, Amelie," Alistair asked, his voice edged with silverite.

"I said, I'd be dead and you wouldn't be a ... oh sod. I actually said that out loud, didn't I? I didn't mean to, I couldn't stop it. I wanted to tell you before, my sweet Alistair, but how? Every time I tried to get near you, you raced away." Amelie's speech was slightly slurred.

Amelie reached out to touch Alistair as he loomed over her. He didn't move, just let her hold his hand. Her ring was a constantly changing rainbow. Alistair's had turned mud brown. Where had the bitch dumped his son? his daughter? The gender didn't matter to him. His child. Who would be just over two years old, maybe. Cailan's bastard gets to live with Grey Wardens next to the Royal Palace. Where was his child living? Alistair swore to the Maker and Andraste that his child would not have the upbringing he had had - occasional affection and straw to sleep on, followed by an actual bed, paid for in beatings and emotional neglect. He wasn't able to name all the feelings he was having. Anger was paramount certainly. Bile was filling Alistair, drowning him heart and soul, waiting to spill out over Amelie.

"You didn't think telling me I had a bastard child deserved some special effort? Surely even a man like me deserves to know he is a father, Amelie. You should have known what it would mean to me, siring a bastard. Where is it, anyway? Handed over to the Chantry to raise? Farmed out to some country cousin? Does being a mother interfere with being the hero of Ferelden?"

Amelie released Alistair's hand and leapt to her feet. She landed an uppercut on his jaw that rattled his teeth and filled his mouth with blood. Alistair spat out the blood, splashing Amelie's bare feet. Amelie's ring had changed to brown.

"If you'd been a man instead of a snivelling brat at the Landsmeet," she raged, "if you'd fought by my side like you'd promised, if you'd kept your vow to always cherish and never hurt me, then I might consider you fit to be a father to my child, Alistair."

"It always comes back to the Landsmeet," Alistair snarled back. "Where you welcomed in my enemy and discarded me, allowing that bitch to take the throne you said should be mine."

Amelie stalked away from him, rubbing the back of her neck. "It's always about you, isn't it, Alistair? What reasons do you think I had for the choices I made?" she demanded.

"I've spent years wondering little else," Alistair answered. "Some last minute scruples about making a bastard king? Some side deal with Loghain? I could never decide."

"Why couldn't you have realised I had good reasons, reasons you could understand and live with?" She sounded anguished.

Alistair remembered Zevran's claim that both he and Amelie had been manipulated. He remembered Zevran urging him not to waste any chance to win Amelie back. This situation was beyond him. He didn't know what to say right now. Even his defensive banter had abandoned him. What had happened back then that he had missed?

Merik, whose presence they had both forgotten, broke the silence. "Amelie, you've come this far, tell Alistair the rest," he advised.

"I'm not going to. He was quick enough to believe I was betraying him. Let him suffer the consequences."

"You've told me again and again that you want Alistair to know the truth, Amelie. For Andraste's sake, tell him or I will," Merik insisted.

"Fuck him and you too, Merik," Amelie growled.

"That'll be a no, then," Alistair said. "What's the truth I should be told, Merik?"

"Sit down and I'll tell you," Merik replied.

"That good, huh?"

"That good, lad."

Alistair sat on the edge of the bed, where Amelie had been sitting. Whatever it was Amelie didn't want him to know, it was troubling Merik greatly. He almost see the other man calling up the courage to say the words, whatever they were. Alistair waited, though he wanted to grab one of them, which one he didn't care, and throttle out the explanation.

Merik sighed, walked over to Amelie and embraced her. "Amelie, you need to do this."

"Fine, right, I will, as you're insisting, old man." She pulled free from Merik's arms, moved back to confront Alistair eye to eye.

"Remember the morning of the Landsmeet? Remember telling me off for going out alone?"

"Yes, you said something about herbs," Alistair answered. Many times, he had wondered if she had been to a meeting with Loghain, selling him out.

"And I told you we needed to talk, you said we didn't have time, that we'd talk later."

Alistair remembered. This was another well worn memory. Amelie had looked strained, guarded. He'd assumed then it was because of the Landsmeet, later he'd decided it was because she was preparing her betrayal. He had kissed her, promised they'd talk right after the Landsmeet. Amelie had started to insist it couldn't wait until later. Arl Eamon had interrupted them at that point, dragged Alistair off for a political pep talk.

"I'd been worried about something. I'd gone to see a healerwoman. She..." Amelie's voice broke. Despite his anger, Alistair wanted to comfort her in her distress.

Amelie took several deep breaths. "She told me I was pregnant, at least halfway along."

The shock blasted away Alistair's anger and bile. It left shame behind.

"I was starting to show. I knew I wouldn't be able to fight much longer, should probably have stopped already. I knew we'd need another Grey Warden to take my place. Riordan's suggestion seemed to come from Andraste herself in answer to my prayers."

Alistair buried his face in his hands. Amelie's soft voice continued.

"I hated Loghain too, Alistair but I decided that I'd rather have a vicious fuckster like him by your side than no one. The archdemon hadn't shown itself. I knew if it didn't turn up really really soon I wouldn't be able to fight alongside you, because I'd be too sodding pregnant." She paused, took another few deep breaths. "I was stunned by your reaction. I knew you'd be angry but I thought you would trust me. I, er, lost my focus, I felt so sick, I thought I was going to faint, then suddenly Anora was queen and you were gone. Why didn't you trust me, Alistair? Why did you leave?" she cried.

Alistair lifted his head to show Amelie his tears and his shame. He reached out to grasp her hands. He bent over to kiss each finger, then turned her hands over to kiss the palms as well. Tears were racing away from his eyes. He misread everything. Amelie was right. Why hadn't he trusted her? He'd known how much she hated Loghain, believed the teryn was behind the murder of her family. Hadn't they had discussions about the best way to execute the scum? He had spent three years believing Amelie had failed him, when he had failed her at one of the hardest times of a woman's life. Alistair knew he could never make up for such a colossal mistake. He was sodding well going to try though. The words came to him, words more eloquent than he could usually manage.

"My true, my only, my eternal love," Alistair began. He moved from the bed to kneel at her feet. "I've done great wrongs to you, many times over. Take my life in recompense. Take it and use it however you wish. If it would console you, drive Starfang through my heart. If it would heal you, wash your hands in my hot blood. I am yours to command. I will live and die at your word."

"You can shave that sodding beard off for a start," Amelie instructed, shifting away. "Merik, let's get to work."


	15. Another punch to the heart

**Another punch to the heart**

Alistair watched Avernus sourly. The old/young mage had done some very fast talking and Deren had decided to spare his life for the time being. Oh, Alistair understood the Warden Commander's reasoning well enough; that didn't stop him wanting to turn Avernus into mincemeat for using magic to get into Amelie's knickers. What if Avernus was prepared to testify against Lilah Howe and Anora? He was hardly a believable witness, standing there in the body of someone he'd murdered. They had all the prisoners, if Avernus wasn't lying. The mage claimed he had smuggled them out of the underground prison while pretending to the guards he had 'used up' the prisoners in his experiments.

"Amelie told me not to experiment on people any more. I didn't want to disappoint her," Avernus had explained.

Yes, Avernus had shown them his secret exit. Yes, he had handed over all the documents he'd squirreled away, which incriminated various members of the Howe family and Anora in some nasty business. And if the Drydens had been given instructions over a Grey Warden seal, they probably wouldn't mention the hundred or more people who had shown up to take refuge at Soldier's Peak. It had been six months since any of the Wardens had been to their mountaintop fortress. In that time, Levi had sent two letters. Deren admitted that the last one had been a little odd, but he'd thought maybe Levi had been drunk while writing it.

The memory of the next bit of the mage's confession almost brought a smile to Alistair's lips. Everyone had been flabbergasted. Avernus had wanted a new body with which to court Amelie, convinced that Amelie returned his affections. Deren had demanded why Avernus had planted the be-spelled items for Amelie, if the mage believed she would be a willing partner. Avernus had been reluctant to explain, apparently embarrassed. Alistair had, er, persuaded him to talk by means of a snarl or three. It boiled down to impatience. Avernus had wanted to skip wooing and get straight to the sex. Didn't they realise how long he'd been celibate? Even old men get urges, Avernus had pointed out. The ring had been to reduce Amelie's self-restraint, making her more likely to behave impulsively, and the amulet to ensure those impulses were sexual. They weren't designed to make Amelie feel feelings she wasn't already feeling, the mage had insisted. Avernus had expressed a hope that his actions hadn't caused Amelie any embarrassment and apologise for the misunderstanding. Amelie had accepted the mage's apology by breaking his nose. This was in addition to the punch in the groin she had administered on finding the mage cowering behind a wall-hanging.

Now, they were eating, resting and making preparations. Amelie had paled when Avernus related how he had sent the prisoners to Soldier's Peak. She had wanted to set out immediately. Deren had persuaded her that taking time for a meal would not delay unduly. Besides they had no supplies with them, and she was still barefoot. They needed to take what they could from this peculiar prison and that wouldn't happen instantly. Amelie had agreed reluctantly to an hour's delay. Alistair didn't know the reason for Amelie's urgency. He had a bad feeling though. Amelie had gone to search for shoes or boots, and any camping equipment. Finally shod, she sat down next to Alistair at the table to eat, apparently forgetting she had been avoiding him.

"My lady, please tell why you are so concerned about Soldier's Peak," Alistair said.

Amelie swivelled on her chair, all the better to glare at him. "Is it your place to ask me anything? As you have given your life to me, that is," she responded.

"I suppose not, but when I have ever kept to my place?" Alistair rubbed his freshly shaved face. "I have a suspicion that our - your - child is there. Am I right?"

"Nearly. They were in Denerim with us, and set out for Soldier's Peak this morning. If there is even one Howe spy among those prisoners..."

"They?"

"Lydia, my maid, Shale, Oghren and ... my child. Shale is a devoted bodyguard and Oghren insisted on going along," Amelie explained. "They left straight after the ceremony."

Alistair's mind raced. Did that mean? Surely that boy was too old to be his and Amelie's? Duncan, though, named for a friend of his parents. Lydia's embarrassment at finding Alistair with the boy. And the uncanny resemblance. Yet again, Alistair decided, I am an idiot. That was probably why Deren told me not to shave, to hide how alike Duncan and I are.

"Do you mean Lydia Dryden?" he asked carefully. "Blonde, about our age? Because she was still at the compound this afternoon, as were Shale and Oghren." Uncle Renny indeed!

"Sod. They were supposed to leave this morning, mix in with the people who'd come into the city for the ceremony. Alistair, you're mistake, you must be!" Amelie exclaimed.

Alistair bit his lower lip. "And a red haired boy called Duncan? I thought he was about four years old but I'm never good at judging ages."

"He'll be three in a few months, but he is big for his age," she corrected automatically then, "You met Duncan? Did he recognise you?"

"No, he didn't but why would he? We've never met, after all," Alistair said bitterly.

"Duncan has pictures of you. There's always one next to his bed," Amelie whispered. "But the hair, the beard, you look different."

"Pictures? Of me? How?" Alistair stammered, while thinking 'She told me to shave, she intended to introduce me, and pictures... She wanted Duncan to know his father.'

"We always thought Sten had a secret, didn't we? He drew the pictures before he went home. He said a boy should know the face of his father, and a woman should have a remembrance of her husband. They are amazing, just like you."

Alistair wasn't able to speak, even if he had been able to think of anything to say.

"We kiss you goodnight, every night, and pray for your safety. I told Duncan you were away doing Warden work. He understands that's important."

Another revelation to pummel me, Alistair thought. All this time I've hated her and Amelie's known it, and yet she has been raising her son to love me. More of today makes sense now. He couldn't bear to look at her, crippled by her apparent forgiveness.

"Alistair? Say something? Please?" Amelie was asking.

"You are the most generous person in the world. I have never deserved you, Amelie, never." Alistair took her hand and pressed it over his heart. "You are still the blood in my veins, my dear."

Amelie raised her other hand to brush away Alistair's tears. "I let you down when you needed my support most, Alistair. I've never known how to make that up to you. The way you looked at me that day has haunted me ever since. I wanted to Duncan to know you, even if he never got a chance to meet you, because it was the absolute least I could do in atonement."

For a few moments they sat in silence. Alistair was struggling to take in everything he had learned that day. Twelve hours ago he had been fantasising about killing Amelie and now his heart was pounding under her palm and his tears were on her fingertips. He knew she still desired him, because Avernus insisted the amulet would not enhance feelings that didn't already exist. He had a son, his very image, who kissed a picture of him every night. He knew he still loved Amelie beyond all reason, all hope. Alistair didn't know if Amelie still loved him, though. She had been acting out of guilt, out of the need to atone, not out of love. And look how much more he had to atone for! Maker, crawling to her feet, naked, across broken glass, would be a good way to start.

"Amelie, about that night," he began but Deren banged a table to draw attention.

"Buckle up, wardens! Time to got!" the commander shouted.

Amelie scanned the room. "We're missing Deke," she called to Deren.

"No, I sent him off as soon as he'd eaten. He was going to shift and fly on to warn, er ..."

"Warn Lydia," Amelie finished. "It's all right, Deren, lads. I've told Alistair about Duncan. You can stop being shifty with him."

"Thank the sodding Maker for that!" the axeman exclaimed. "Do we get to punch him now for being a tosspot? My fist has been itching all day."

Alistair laughed. "I'd been wondering where you'd got your black eye. That's my answer, I suppose. I could kiss it better?"

"Only if you kiss Nerrin's injury first. You kicked him in the bollocks."

"Enough," Deren ordered. "We've got a fast march ahead of us. Let's go. You can bicker on the way."


	16. On The Road Again

** On The Road Again**

When the group reached the surface, it was a beautiful evening, with a golden glow turning the ordinary agricultural landscape into something magical. Alistair reckoned they had another three hours before full dark. He hoped he'd be able to keep up with the others, who were wearing lighter armour and were no doubt at top fitness. Although Alistair knew he was in better condition than he deserved, it was a long way from peak condition. He was anticipating a tough march.

Deren set an easy pace for the start. Alistair concentrated on getting his body moving in a regular rhythm, preparing for the increase in speed. Sure enough, Deren gradually increased the speed up to double time. Alistair was managing it easily for the time being. He knew his testing point would be in another couple of hours, when he was flagging but his companions had energy to spare. Nevertheless Alistair was determined he would not fall behind. He'd use every trick he knew to keep going. After all, he had an extra incentive - at the end of this march he was going to meet his son. He would distract himself from his body's complaints by reflecting on all he'd learned today and planning what he was going to do with the information.

When Deren reduced their speed, Alistair noticed the axeman beside him.

"You don't remember me, do you? the man asked. "I'm not surprised, like. It was a while ago and you were rat-arsed at the time."

"Sorry," Alistair said, "I don't remember your face. A few more clues and it might come back to me."

"Two years ago, farm about halfway between Redcliffe and Lothering. There'd been a spate of darkspawn attacks all round. You turned up while they were attacking the house, slaughtered them."

Alistair narrowed his eyes while he thought back. "Was there a boy with his bitch, hiding in the barn? The bitch was pupping and he hadn't wanted to leave her."

"Yeah, that's it. The boy's my nephew. You saved my sister, her kids and the sodding dog too."

"I remember some damn fine homebrew and waking up in the barn with a couple of blokes watching me," Alistair said.

"Me and me brother. We'd gone to the market in Lothering, came back to a pile of darkspawn corpses in the yard and a very relieved sister. You were passed out on the kitchen floor, snoring. My sister reckoned you'd been drunk the whole time."

"She was right. In fact, I was so drunk I puked in a genlock's face. His surprise made him a lot easier to kill, I recall. I hadn't known darkspawn could even feel surprise."

"Anyway, I reckoned I owed you. I reckoned if you could do that drunk, save a whole family, then I might do as much sober. The next time Deren passed by, I volunteered," the axeman went on.

"You joined the Grey Wardens because of me?" Alistair was astonished.

"You, and being sodding sick of sodding farming. My name's Jiggs."

"Good to meet you while sober, Jiggs."

"Anyway, I want you to know, we've heard all the stories about the battle of Denerim, and after, and we don't know how much is true. We do know that she won't hear a word spoken against you and we know the work you've been doing. That counts in your favour a bit," Jiggs explained.

"But? I can hear the but," Alistair responded.

"But if she gave the word, you'd be cut down like a rabid dog, and I'd be first in line," Jiggs grinned.

"Good to know," said Alistair, grinning back. "But if she gave the word, I'd cut my throat before you even got near me."

Jiggs was taken aback. "Like that, is it?"

"Yep, it's like that. Let's talk about something else. Do you like cheese? What's your favourite?"

They'd been moving for maybe an hour and a half when Deren called a break. Alistair was feeling better than he'd expected for the distance they'd covered, mainly because Deren had kept alternating their speed. Maybe he was much, much fitter than he deserved. Amelie had sat down on a low wall, munching an apple.

"May I join you?" Alistair asked, gesturing at the space beside her.

"You may." She offered him an apple and he accepted it. "How are you doing? We move like this regularly but I know your usual pace is somewhat slower."

"I'm fine. Better than I expected. The proper time to check will be in three or four hours. That's when I'll be struggling. You can enjoy a proper gloat then." Alistair bit into the apple; it was delicious. Recently his apple intake had mostly been in the form of cider or pie. He'd forgotten how good the texture of a fresh apple was.

"Deke hasn't rejoined us. I'm worried. Deren says I'm over-thinking," Amelie said.

"Maybe they'd got further than Deren thought. Maybe Deke needed a rest before returning. Maybe he flew too close to Shale and she got excited. Why do you think it's trouble?"

"Because it's the Howes. They've moved against me a few times, always sneaky, backstabbing stuff. This last year I've had no bother from them. I didn't think they'd actually given up but I was hoping. Instead they've sucked Anora into their plotting." Amelie threw the tiny apple core remaining at Merik, and bit into another fruit.

"I thought the children had been cleared of involvement in Rendon's schemes."

"Yep, but no one bothered looking at his wife. After all, she practically never left Amaranthine and always looked browbeaten when she did go to court." Amelie sighed. "Turns out the Arlessa is the real terror. Rendon learned his torture tricks from her. By the time we realised she was the source of his ambitions and plotting, it was too late. She was gone."

"All this conspiracy and plotting is a bit beyond my monastery moulded mind," Alistair admitted. "Perhaps because I'm not very ambitious. I would have made a terrible king."

"No, I think you would have made a great king because you weren't desperate to get power for yourself. You would have done your duty to the best of your abilities. You've never realised much potential you have. Those Chantry wankers convinced you that you were useless and thick. It never occurred to you that they were deliberately battering down your self-confidence." Amelie sounded passionate.

"Why would they do that? No, don't bother. I get it. If I'm convinced I'm a bumbling fool, I'd never make a move against Maric or Cailan. Is that what you truly believe happened?" he asked.

"Absolutely. I don't think Eamon was involved but that Grand Cleric? Certainly. Leliana can prove it too," Amelie replied.

"Will you please stop telling me secrets and plots? My brain is going to explode with all the things I've been told today," Alistair groaned. "I need my brain free to think about the really, really important stuff."

"Which is?" Amelie asked stiffly.

"You. Duncan."

"Oh," Amelie smiled. "Not cheese? Poor Jiggs reckons he's going to have nightmares about being trapped somewhere with you, and all you do is talk about cheese."

"I do have other topics of conversation. Probably. Swords, I can talk about swords. I could talk for hours and hours about armour. Cheese isn't my only or even my favourite subject,"Alistair protested.

Amelie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "No, you've lost me. If cheese isn't your favourite subject, what is?"

"My dear, do you really need to ask?" he murmured huskily.

A tinge of red highlighted Amelie's cheekbones. She licked her lips. Alistair thought about how fantastic it had been to kiss those lips again. He wondered if he dared risk it. No, actually, he didn't deserve to kiss Amelie. Alistair knew he shouldn't think about kissing or anything else-ing with Amelie. There was no way it would happen. She didn't love him any more and if Amelie didn't love him, Alistair didn't think he could bear to be intimate with her. So what if she seemed to be swaying towards him, inviting him to kiss her? So what if she was peeking at him through lowered lashes in the way that always drove him crazy? There were too many issues they needed to resolve before they could contemplate contemplating kissing, smooching or ...

Amelie made a little mewling noise and Alistair found himself leaning forward, pressing his mouth to hers. He didn't remember deciding to move though. Amelie responded eagerly, reaching up to hold his face, tangling her fingers in his long hair. He nibbled her lower lip and she moaned softly, clutched his head. Alistair deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between Amelie's teeth to tease the inside of her mouth.

"Maker's Breath! Can you two not sit next to each other for five minutes without arguing or kissing or both?" Deren demanded. "You're worse than Merik and Morrigan."

Amelie finished the kiss, pulled away reluctantly. "Later," she whispered against his lips.

"What!" Merik was protesting. "Me and my wife are amateurs compared to those two, Deren. You've heard the stories about their sexy shenanigans while they were traipsing all over Ferelden."

That caught Alistair's attention instantly. "What stories?" he asked. "Whose stories?"

There was an assortment of sniggers and muffled laughter.

"Well," said Deren, "there are Leliana's stories."

"And Oghren's," said Jiggs.

"And Morrigan's," said Merik.

"And Zevran's, of course," Deke chipped in, as he changed from bird to man. "His are the most detailed."


	17. Fireside Fun

**Fireside Fun**

"Is he safe?" Amelie asked at once.

Deke glanced at Alistair.

"He knows," half a dozen Wardens chorused.

"Yes, Duncan's safe. They've bedded down for the night. I put glyphs about their campsite. Lydia and Duncan are sleeping in the wagon, Oghren and Scrof under it, and Shale is on guard," Deke reported. "They will wait for us tomorrow. Shale says there is no need for you to march all night. I am to remind you how grumpy squishies get when they are deprived of sleep."

"This is a decision I can't make," Deren said.

Amelie looked at the faces of her friends. She knew they would march all night, and all the next day, if she wished it. Shale was probably right. Her son was safe. For the first time, though, it wasn't solely her decision. For the first time, Alistair was with her. Amelie turned to her son's father. She knew how desperate he was to meet Duncan properly. Amelie didn't need a magic ring to understand Alistair's feelings. Since learning he was a father, he had probably thought of little else, and no doubt he was prepared to do practically anything for the child he hadn't met.

Alistair squeezed her hand. "I think we should also bed down. There's no need to wake them in the middle of the night, is there? And Deren seems grumpy enough already."

"Are you sure?" Amelie asked.

"Oh, yes. Deren has done nothing but shout at me all day."

Amelie gripped Alistair's hand more and more tightly until he squeaked.

"Yes, my dear, I'm sure. I've no doubt Avernus healed you as best he could. I still think you need to rest to heal up those bruises some more. I can wait." He smiled at her.

"You heard the man, lads. We'll find a suitable place and make camp," Amelie announced.

oooOOOooo

She had managed to find four tents in the underground complex. Thirteen men and one woman didn't divide very evenly by four. The wardens divided up the work with little discussion. Soon there was a fire with food cooking and a neat arrangement of tents.

Deren called Amelie and Merik to join him.

"Let's work out the watches and who sleeps where," he said.

Merik had a sly smile on his face. "I think Amelie should share with Avernus because she can dispel his magic if he gets up to any funny business."

"Is that the best you've got?" Amelie retorted. "How disappointing."

"I've had a word with Deke. He's going to dose Avernus with a sleeping draught. That way, the two with Templar training get more sleep than if they have to split the night between them," Deren said.

"You might need us fully rested tomorrow," Amelie agreed. "In fact, it might be best if Alistair and I didn't take watches at all tonight. I'm feeling pretty battered and he isn't used to such a strenuous day."

Merik snorted. Deren glared at him, "Meaning, Merik?"

"Just thinking that Amelie was the most strenuous part of the day for the lad," Merik answered, smirking.

Amelie chewed her lower lip. She never asked for special treatment because of her gender or her supposed status. She never shirked any task she was fit for, on any grounds at all. No one had any reason to doubt her dedication to duty. She felt hesitant about asking Deren for even the smallest favour.

"Deren, I'd like Alistair and I to be assigned to a single tent, with no one else, if you think that's manageable," Amelie blurted out, feeling very self-conscious. She thought that if she had blushed, it was dark enough to disguise it.

Deren stared at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Why wouldn't it be? You're my second in command, he's your husband. Are you sure though, Amelie? You haven't seen him for a long time, and it's such an awkward situation between you."

"Oh, she's sure, boss," Merik quipped.

"That's why I'd like some privacy, Deren."

"It's no problem, even makes things a bit easier. Three men to a tent, three on watch at a time. Merik, as you're so full of energy tonight you can stand a double watch and arrange who is on watch when."

Merik swore, then swore again when Amelie winked at him.

"Amelie, how are you doing in those shoes you found?" Deren asked.

She pulled a face. "I'm managing and that's the best I can say. They're a bit big and I've acquired a few blisters."

"Well, go get your feet sorted quick smartish. Avernus, if he hasn't been drugged already," Deren ordered.

Amelie nodded and went to sit near the fire. Truthfully, her feet were causing her a great deal of pain, after a fast march in wrong sized shoes. It was with a heartfelt sigh she took off the shoes and her two pairs of stolen socks. Her heels were a mess of broken skin and blood, and she had several blisters on each foot. Wearily, Amelie got her canteen of water, dampened a sock and began to clean off the blood.

"Here, let me," Alistair offered, sitting down.

Amelie handed him the canteen and sock wordlessly. She lay down while Alistair washed her feet with the cool water. There was a difference between Alistair taking care of her and anyone else's attempts. Amelie didn't know how to explain or describe the difference. It was just better. She lifted her head to peer at him.

"Why are your fingers bandaged?" Amelie asked. She'd noticed earlier and had been too cross to care.

"Oh, merely a few burns. That ring did not want to come off your finger," he said easily.

"That's your sword hand," Amelie pointed out.

"Really? I must have left it on by mistake. I was sure I'd changed to my 'removing scary magic rings' hand," Alistair replied.

"If my feet weren't killing me, I'd kick you. Get Avernus over here. He can fix my feet and your hand," she instructed.

Alistair stood, returning a few minutes later with both mages.

"As I said, her ladyshipness' feet are a mess. Would one of you fine mages fix 'em up for her?"

"Of course," Avernus responded eagerly. "Otherwise we might have to carry her tomorrow. I know how much you hate being carried, Amelie!"

"It depends on the situation, Avernus," Amelie replied. "There are times when I delight in being carried." She peeked up at Alistair and saw him narrow his eyes. "Isn't that right, Alistair?"

"Yep, the drunker you are, the more delighted you are," he quipped. "I can't carry you, I'm afraid. I've got a sore paw." Alistair waggled his bandaged fingers.

"I'll fix that for you," Avernus offered. The mage was eager to ingratiate himself. He yawned widely before casting a healing spell at Amelie's feet. When Avernus then turned to heal Alistair, he fell over instead, snoring loudly.

"That was surprising. I know I'm not the most interesting conversationalist but still ..." Alistair said, looking flummoxed.

"I know. You hadn't mentioned cheese for several seconds," Deke smiled. "Here, I can manage a small healing spell. Hand over that hand."

oooOOOooo

The Wardens ate together round the fire. The sun had set properly a while ago and the air was getting chilly. No one was saying much. It seemed that Alistair still couldn't abide a silent meal.

"I'm going to miss Morrigan tonight," he commented. "She's always so warm, it's like having three or four extra blankets."

Amelie choked on her stew, shocked. What was Alistair implying? Had Morrigan been with him for these last months, canoodling or such like? No, hang on. 'No virtue in being cold.' Alistair would share blankets with anyone living if it meant he was warm.

"I just wish she wouldn't wake me up by licking my face or sticking her nose in my ear. It is not pleasant," Alistair complained.

Heat sharers did not lick each other's faces! Merik was sitting right there. Was he listening to Alistair? Maker, he was. Amelie knew Merik's jealous temperament. There was going to be fight, and Alistair was going to get pasted if he didn't shut up.

"Has Morrigan ever woken you up by sticking that wet nose of hers somewhere warm, Merik?"

Amelie's temper bounded to her feet and stalked over to shout in her former lover's face. "Alistair! Shut up! I don't know what you've been up to with Morrigan but have the grace to not flaunt it in front of her husband." The anger was all on Merik's behalf, of course. Amelie wasn't harbouring any jealous feelings herself. No. Not at all.

The silence after her rant warned Amelie. It wasn't the strained silence that went with dirty laundry being aired in public. It was more the secretive silence of muffled laughter and hidden jokes. Alistair broke first, Merik next. The two guffawed loudly and others joined in.

"See?" Merik gasped eventually. "I told you Amelie didn't know."

"Amelie didn't know what?" she growled.

"Morrigan's been shepherding Alistair round Ferelden disguised as a dog. The idiot didn't realise until this morning," Merik explained.

"Because I'm a cretin," Alistair added, "but because I'm a cretin Morrigan decided she wouldn't turn me into a frog."

Amelie realised she'd been set up and glared at them. "I'm going to bed," she announced and went to her tent. She re-arranged the blankets inside into a single sleeping area and stripped off down to the skin. She pushed her head between the tent flaps. "Alistair. In here. your armour off first," she ordered.

She got under the blankets and listened to the wolf whistles and cat calls directed at Alistair. Merik was chanting "Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!" Amelie stuffed a corner of blanket into her mouth to muffle her laughter. She knew exactly how mortified Alistair was feeling, and serve him right!

The wolf whistles got even more raucous when Alistair ducked into the tent. He was in his arming doublet and hose.

"Hello," he said cautiously. "Amelie?"

"You can take that lot off too," she instructed, throwing back the blankets. There was just enough light for Alistair to see that she was entirely naked apart from an amulet, but not enough for him to identify what amulet it was. Amelie savoured the panicked expression that crossed his face.


	18. Father's Day

**Father's Day**

There was little light in the tent. There was enough. Amelie was grinning that cheeky grin of hers, daring him to say something, do something. Alistair was pretty confident that he wouldn't be able to do anything immediately without looking a total fool. She was naked! And inviting!

"Hurry up, I'm cold," Amelie said.

"I can see that from here," he muttered. "Which amulet is that?"

"Get your kit off, get over here and find out," she replied.

"Amelie, I'm not sure I want to..." he trailed off.

"Lie down? Go to sleep? I think you can drop the shy virgin act, Alistair," she gibed. "After all, I've, er, licked your lamppost plenty of times."

"Shush! Did you have to say that so loudly?" Alistair asked, more flustered by the moment. This was not what he had been expecting.

Amelie chuckled. "There aren't any virgins outside either."

Jealously flared in Alistair's gut. She sounded extremely certain. Was Amelie so sure because she'd been with all of them? He ripped off his garments, even his smallclothes, and advanced towards Amelie. Her grin widened, became challenging.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" she taunted.

Alistair checked. Yes, he had taken his socks off. Ah, no. She meant Lil Alistair. Well, if she was going to tease him, he was going to tease her right back.

"No," he answered. "I'm fine. You fine? Good. Let's go to sleep."

He lay down on the improvised bedroll with his back to Amelie and arranged the blankets over them both. Alistair could hear her confusion, like the lid rattling on a simmering pot. He thought he had made it plain to Amelie earlier that he had actual feelings for her, and all she had shown in return was lust. Did she think he had changed so much? Alistair was not going to have sex just for the sake of having sex. Unless he was unable to resist Amelie's blandishments, which there was a strong possibility, but not tonight. Tonight, Amelie could blandish as much she wanted. Big Alistair had had an exhausting day, physically and emotionally. Lil Alistair wouldn't be coming out to play, and certainly not after the fright he'd had earlier.

Amelie propped herself up on an elbow and stared at him. He could feel her eyes drilling holes in his back. "Alistair?" she purred.

He rolled over to look at her. "I got maybe a couple hours sleep last night. I've been on the move since before dawn, apart from the time I spent tied to a table. Naked, you understand. I've been punched unconscious, shouted at, cried on twice, hugged a furious witch, threatened with frogginess, hugged by a flirtatious elf, and been beaten by a small child with a wooden sword. Then we find you and all you want to do is shout at me and screw me. Add to that, I'm an out of condition drunk who hasn't had a swallow of booze since lunch time. My head hurts, my feet hurt and my arse feels like it's one gigantic bruise." He rolled back the other way. "It ain't happening."

Amelie giggled. "You were tied to a table naked? I bet that was Zevran's idea." She lay down too and snuggled up against his back. "Well, I'll let you sleep then."

"My dear, I doubt that the entire prostitute population of Denerim, including the nugs, could keep me awake tonight."

"Nughumper!"

"Absolutely. Sleep well."

Alistair was plunging rapidly towards sleep when Amelie spoke again.

"By the way, Alistair, everyone thinks we're married."

"Why?"

"Um, because I told them we were?"

"Makes sense. Shut up. Go to sleep."

oooOOOooo

Alistair slept dreamlessly. It was a welcome change. When he woke in the morning Amelie was already dressing.

"Morning," he muttered.

"Morning! Aren't you curious about what I told you last night?" she chirped.

Chirped! Sweet Andraste, wasn't the woman going to let him wake up slowly the way the Maker intended? Alistair closed his eyes again. "I'm slightly curious," he admitted, "but I'm sure you had a good reason. If I'm lucky you'll tell me later. Much, much later."

"Still a grouch when you wake up then?"

"Yep."

"I need help with my armour."

Alistair opened one eye. "There are thirteen other men out there. Twelve of them are no doubt used to helping you and the remaining one would probably cut off his own nipples for a chance at your buckles."

Amelie kicked his legs. "You've got until I've had breakfast, then this tent is coming down. I reckon Avernus deserves a chance to see you naked as well."

"Huh. He'd cut off your nipples for a chance to see me naked," Alistair mumbled. "Two minutes to wake up, that's all I want, woman."

After Amelie left the tent Alistair rubbed his eyes and forced himself to sit up. He felt awful. His head was pounding and his hands were shaking. He needed a drink. Alistair knew there was no booze in camp and his best bet for some was Oghren, and who knew how far away the dwarf was. Was that the kind of father he wanted to be? The kind who could only manage getting up if there was a bottle next to the bed? There had been a Templar like that at the abbey where he'd trained. Rumour had said that the man had done one too many Harrowings and could only keep himself going with wine and lyrium. Most of the initiates had despised him, certain they would never fall so low. Alistair had been one of them, disgusted by the Templar's lack of discipline and self-respect. He wondered if the Templar, Tanus? Tanis? was alive or if he'd managed to achieve permanent oblivion.

Alistair, though, Alistair had a child to live for, a son whose father would not reek constantly of alcohol with a bottle in his hand. He put on his socks and made himself stand up. Today, Grey Warden Alistair was going to meet his son.

oooOOOooo

Four hours later, Deke told Alistair they had nearly reached the place where Lydia and the others had set up camp. Alistair immediately puked into a nearby bush.

"Amelie, I think Alistair needs you," Deke called ahead.

Amelie trotted back, arriving just as Alistair heaved again. "What happened?" she asked

"I told him we were nearly there and he started vomiting. Nerves, do you think?" Deke asked.

"I'll deal with him," she said. "You go on."

Alistair straightened up and took the water canteen Amelie was holding out. He rinsed his mouth and spat. "That was an interesting reaction," he remarked.

"Indeed. Do try not to vomit on Duncan though," Amelie advised.

"Well, I don't intend to, and certainly I'll try and aim away if necessary." Alistair exhaled. "Is this a good idea? I mean, am I ready to be a father? It's not as if I've had the usual amount of time to get used to the idea, is it?"

"I didn't get full notice of parenthood either," Amelie shot back. "I managed. And it's a bit late now to wonder if it's a good idea. You can hardly take Duncan back to the shop."

Alistair laughed. "It would be a bit of a squeeze getting him back through the door, wouldn't it?"

"It was a hell of squeeze getting him out in the first place!" Amelie snapped. "Not that you would know anything about it, being passed out in a midden somewhere at the time."

Alistair blenched. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't think. Maker, I should just get my mouth sewn shut, shouldn't I?"

"Yes," she snarled.

"I'm really really really nervous. What if Duncan doesn't like me? What if he doesn't want me to be his daddy? What happens then?"

Amelie slapped Alistair across the face, none too gently. "You've no choice. You're his father. Deal with it."

Alistair rubbed his cheek where Amelie had hit him. "Thanks, I needed that. Right, I'm ready. Ready-ish. Almost ready-ish. Let's go."

Amelie shook her head, smiling. "I've seen you attack ogres single-handed and not turn a hair. You're terrified, aren't you?"

"I'm terrified, yes."

She held out her hand and Alistair took it. "Come on," she said, "I'll protect you."

Another ten minutes, and they were there, a small camping ground a little way off the road. Deren, Merik and the rest had arrived already. Lydia was handing steaming mugs to a couple of the men. Oghren was sitting with his back against one of the wagon wheels with a chicken leg in one hand and a flask in the other. Scrof and the small boy were taking turns chasing each round and round Shale's legs. Suddenly Scrof barked, turned and ran full pelt towards Amelie and Alistair. Duncan looked round and when he saw his mother, he scampered after Scrof. Amelie dashed forward and swept Duncan up into the air, planting kisses all over his face. Scrof bypassed Amelie and leaped at Alistair, who was knocked onto the ground by the weight of the Mabari's welcome. The dog began licking all the uncovered skin he could find.

"Miss me, did you, boy?" Alistair asked, scratching Scrof. "I missed you. Don't believe anything you hear about me and another dog, it's not true. You're still my best doggy friend."

Duncan's head popped into Alistair's eye line. A small hand stretched out to touch his face, stroked along his jawline. Alistair froze. He didn't want to ruin the moment by saying something stupid. Duncan ran his hand over Alistair's hair next, tugging at it slightly.

"Do you know who this is, Duncan?" Amelie asked.

The boy nodded.

"Who is it, darling? Tell your ma," she coaxed.

"Ma knows!" Duncan retorted, looking up at Amelie.

Alistair chuckled and Duncan switched his attention back. "What funny?"

"Er, nothing?" he ventured.

Duncan patted the silverite breastplate. "Daddy's best armour."

"That's right, Duncan," Amelie agreed. "That's Daddy's best armour."

Another reason to thank Zev, Alistair thought. If I end up owing that elf any more, I'll have to kiss him. No tongues though.

Duncan peered into Alistair's face, nearly nose to nose. "Daddy."

I think I'd even be prepared to kiss Sten in gratitude for this miracle, Alistair decided.

"Yes, Duncan. I'm your daddy." Alistair struggled to sit up, under the combined weight of Mabari and child. He put his arm around his son for the first time and kissed his forehead. "I've come home."


End file.
